
Book ::^- 



GopyrightN". 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 




\VASHIX(iTOX IkVING 

After the portrait by G. S. Newton, 1823 



THE SKETCH-BOOK 

OF 

GEOFFEEY CEAYON, GENT. 



TOGETHER WITH ABBOTSFORD AND OTHER SELECTIONS 
FROM THE WRITINGS OF 



WASHINGTON IRVING 



" I have no wife nor children, good or bad, to provide for. 
A mere spectator of other men's fortunes and adventures, and 
how they play their parts ; which, methinks, are diversely 
presented unto me, as from a common theatre or scene." 

— Burton. 



EDITED WITH COMMENTS, NOTES, BIBLIOGRAPHY, AND 
TOPICS FOR STUDY, BY 



H. A. DAVIDSON, M.A. 



BOSTON, U.SA. 

D. C. HEATH & CO., PUBLISHERS 

1907 



C: 



^cz 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 

Two Cooies Received 

)AN 29 190r 

Copyright Entry 
^ 'dLASS A XXc, No. 
COPY B. 






Copyright, 1907, 
By D. C. Heath & Co. 



EDITOR'S NOTE 

The essays in this edition of ''The Sketch-Book" have been 
selected and arranged with reference to their usefulness in the 
secondary school. Irving claims our attention as the first 
American to win distinction in the field of letters ; this, too, 
in a day when no critic looked for elegance or refinement in 
the writings of our countrymen. He represents, also, a dis- 
tinct period in the history of American letters, and his writ- 
ings had marked influence in the group of literary men who 
first gave direction to the American press. In arrangement, 
Irving's essays approach the narrative form. This, in itself, 
wakens interest, and the personal charm of the author is such 
that young and old, alike, find in him a companion and guide. 
There is, moreover, a fine literary quality in his writings, and 
the fiavor of an older, quieter mood of mind gives them per- 
ennial charm. His style, modelled in a measure upon the 
writings of Goldsmith and of Addison, is very different from 
that of any writer of our own day ; many of his essays are 
reminiscent and reflective, and his vocabulary includes scores 
of words or phrases that in these hustling days of train and 
phone have given place to more concise, direct forms of ex- 
pression. For these reasons, intimate acquaintance with the 
essays of "The Sketch-Book, " and through them with the 
genial, cultivated man of letters who was their author, is to 
the young a first step in liberal culture. 

In his own generation Irving was, typically, the traveller 
and the man of letters. It has been the purpose of editor 
and publishers to include in this edition such essays as best 
represent the man in these aspects, and also to illustrate the 
forms of writing in which he excelled. The two forms of com- 
position typically presented in "The Sketch-Book,'' namely, 
the narrative essay of travel or of literary research, and the ro- 
mantic tale in which the form of the narrative differs but little 
from the essay, are especially adapted to aid indirectly the 

ill 



IV INTRODUCTION 

young student who would try his pen upon broader themes than 
those of the schoolboy's compositions. The essay becomes 
narrative in form by the introduction of the author, who re- 
lates as personal experience the observations of the traveller ; 
the narrative essay, in turn, becomes the tale by changes so 
slight that the reader scarcely realizes where he lost sight of 
his guide, the story-teller, and became absorbed in complex 
influences working together toward an end. The material 
in either is matter of such common experience that a score of 
parallel subjects on which he may try his amateur pen come 
at once to the mind of the would-be writer. 

The essays included have been arranged in a sort of se- 
quence that students may the more readily attain familiarity 
with English scenes and their historic or literary associations, 
and thus share the mood of mind in which Irving wrote. 
" Abbotsford " has been added on account of the special interest 
of this essay to readers of "Ivanhoe" and ''The Lady of the 
Lake," or of "Marmion" and "The Lay of the Last Min- 
strel," and also because the literary pilgrimage narrated in it 
took place immediately after Irving's residence in St. Bar- 
tholomew's Close, London. It belongs, therefore, to the 
period of "The Sketch-Book, " and was intimately a part 
of the experiences from which Irving drew his essays. 
Courtesy to a living author whose hospitality he had en- 
joyed prevented the use of this, the most interesting of all 
his literary pilgrimages, as a part of " The Sketch-Book." 
A few other selections from Irving's writings have also been 
added on account of their close relation to one or another of 
the essays. 

A word may be said in regard to the illustrations of this 
edition. The scholarship and enthusiasm devoted to instruc- 
tion in the classics long since secured editions of well-known 
texts in which the illustrations, notes, etc., were drawn from 
the latest and best sources in archseology or in history ; the 
skill of the artist has adorned the pages and at the same time 
given accurate and reliable impressions of real objects: Caesar's 
bridge, reconstructed from the point of view of the engineer ; 
a Roman camp laid out to line and rule and estimated for 



INTRODUCTION V 

numbers; the route of the ten thousand, — each and all — have 
long illustrated and vitalized the work of high school students 
in the classics. In editions for the study of English texts the 
contrast is such that it is unnecessary to point the moral. In 
the present edition of "The Sketch-Book/' an attempt has 
been made, necessarily limited and experimental, to associate 
with an English classic illustrations that present places and 
objects faithfully and with historical accuracy, and thus to 
add significance to the text. The illustrations for West- 
minster Abbey, for instance, were selected after Irving's 
route through the enclosure and minster had been traced; 
this indicated the positions from which he viewed the Abbey 
and made it possible to select illustrations which correspond 
with his point of view and present in visible form the mental 
picture from which he wrote. This correspondence between 
illustrations and objects as really seen, renders the descriptive 
passage virtually a lesson in the art of composition, since the 
student at once compares the written expression with the 
picture. 

A word should be added in regard to the use of the "Topics 
for Study'' which follow the text. They are in no sense 
outlines or analyses of the contents of the essays; outlines 
should be prepared by the students themselves under the 
guidance of the instructor, for an analysis furnished, or sug- 
gested, usually proves a substitute for individual work. The 
topics for study hold, however, a close relation with outline 
or analysis; and the detailed study of special topics should 
guide each one through his own work to an understanding of 
the plan of the essay and an appreciation of the literary 
means employed to give it orderly arrangement and charm. 
The teacher in his own preparation for the classroom will 
parallel the preliminary work of the editor ; after which the 
study topics will serve as tests of the work planned and will 
suggest questions for discussion. They should also aid pupils 
in the preparation of lessons by stimulating alert attention 
and interest in the reading of the text, and by emphasizing 
points of significance in the content or the literary form of the 
essay under consideration. 



VI INTRODUCTION 

The use of the technical terms of narrative art has been 
avoided where possible. The pupils for whom this edition is 
designed are reading for the sake of the Hterature itself, and 
they slip, too easily, on the least excuse, into the formalities 
of text-book distinctions, without appreciation of the mean- 
ing intended. Literature should be opened to their under- 
standings as a storehouse of treasures to be enjoyed at will ; 
as a foreign land wherein one wanders with friendly and 
companionable guides ; as a return to past ages, and a min- 
gling in vanished scenes, recreated by the magic pen of the 
man of letters. Unless these topics for study, arranged in 
seeming routine for the classroom, contribute to this end, 
they will fail of the result to further which they have been 
written. 

The indirect purposes of the study of Irving's essays will 
best fulfill themselves under the personal guidance of the 
instructor. They should, however, be clearly defined, and 
may be summarized briefly as follows : — 

1. Familiarity with an author and a period in the history 
of American hterature. 

2. An elementary knowledge of the habits of observation, 
the sources and gathering of material, and the method of work 
of a writer of essays, travel, and picturesque history. 

3. Familiarity with the narrative form of essay through 
examples, and through constant attempts to write in a 
similar vein. 

4. Familiarity with the short story in the form of historical 
narrative, — a literary form differing but slightly from that 
of the narrative essay, as that, in turn, is distinguished from 
description pure and simple, by the introduction of the least 
possible element of personal interest, or of sequence in time. 
These three closely related literary forms and the character- 
istics distinguishing each have been emphasized in comments, 
suggestions, and topics for study, and in them is found the 
chief significance of "The Sketch-Book" for the student of 
literary art. 

5. Increase of the student's vocabulary, and familiarity 
with phrases and with the forms of literary expression. This 



INTRODUCTION Vll 

result should be gained indirectly, if possible, by the aid of 
books of reference, parallel reading, etc. 

Study of vocabulary must be effectively done to be of 
value. The pupil, seeking carelessly in dictionaries for a 
narrow interpretation of word or phrase, rarely adds to his 
own too limited means of expression. Nor is the definition 
of unusual or obsolete words of special value. The writing 
vocabulary of the pupil must be increased chiefly by drawing 
into habitual use words already familiar and well understood 
when seen in context; the reading vocabulary, on the other 
hand, is increased by additions to the number of words easily 
contributing to the meaning of the sentence in which they 
are found. For the young student, the important things are 
the clear distinction in meaning between words almost, but 
not quite, equivalent, and the drawing into habitual use of 
many common words and phrases which will afford the means 
of varied expression. Nothing, however, calls for more inven- 
tive and persistent effort on the part of the instructor than the 
study of vocabulary, for the moment that this task is made 
a feature of the recitation the attention of teacher and class, 
alike, declines upon a series of miscellaneous and unrelated 
definitions, or bits of information, and thus the minds of all 
are hopelessly diverted from the content and literary value 
of the text. The study of vocabulary should never be min- 
gled with the study of content or of literary form, but it may 
be made the subject of a single lesson at the conclusion of each 
essay. One method for this study is suggested here : the 
essay may be divided into sections and assigned to divisions of 
the class for examination and report. Definite topics should 
be suggested, such as a list of all words the pupils is unable to 
define without the aid of a dictionary ; a list of all words that 
he, himself, is not in the habit of using and that, for this rea- 
son, seem unfamihar, — for these he should be required to 
suggest the word he would use in place of the one he has 
noticed, this should lead to discussion of use and meaning; 
a list of words for which one or more equivalents might be 
suggested, with reasons for the change ; and, finally, a fist of 
phrases for which a single word could be substituted or of 



Viii INTRODUCTION 

sentences that could be made clearer or more effective by 
rearrangement, or that could be shortened without loss of 
significance or of that literary transition from idea to idea 
which is so marked a feature of Irving 's style. 

It is unnecessary here to call attention to Irving's indebted- 
ness to other authors; references to older essays that may 
have furnished hints for his own composition are occasionally 
given in the notes. In Goldsmith's four essays on Sir John 
Falstaff and The Boar's Head Tavern in Eastcheap, for in- 
stance, may be found the germ of Irving's researches and 
reflections on the same themes ; and the curious may discover 
in such papers as Goldsmith's ''An Account of Westminster 
Abbey, " or Addison's " Reflections in Westminster Abbey," a 
reason, at least, for the choice of subject, and a suggestion of 
the temper of mind in which it was approached by our travel- 
ler and citizen of the world. But the study of Irving's 
originality, or of his accuracy as an observer or antiquarian, 
is one for older students and critics. The perennial charm of 
the first American humorist and man of letters must He for us 
all in his own personality, in his gift of lending for the nonce 
an attitude of mind and a mood, so that we each find in 
foreign lands and far-away times an experience in which his- 
tory, association, and emotion unite in an indelible impression 
on the mind. 

The editor wishes to acknowledge indebtedness to many 
persons who have given aid in the detail of the present 
edition; especially to Mr. George Turner Phelps, of Cam- 
bridge, Massachusetts, a most careful student of art, for the 
tracing of Irving's route as shown in his order of description, 
and for the selection of illustrations and references for 
''Westminster Abbey." It is due to Mr. Phelps's intel- 
ligence and generous expenditure of time that the illus- 
trations represent the minster and school as Irving saw 
them, for considerable restorations and changes have since 
taken place. H. A. Davidson. 



THE PUBLICATION OF "THE SKETCH-BOOK" 

The papers of "The Sketch-Book," with two exceptions, 
were written in England. Irving sent them to the United 
States for pubhcation and they were issued in numbers, in 
1819-1820. He had not intended to reprint the essays in 
England, as he thought them little likely to interest readers 
there ; he admits, also, that he had no wish to encounter the 
severe criticism of the British press, at that time especially 
hostile to anything from America. The second number, how- 
ever, fell into the hands of Godwin, the author of "Caleb 
Williams," who found in it essays such as, in his opinion, "few 
Englishmen of that time could have written." Ten days 
after the date of Godwin's letter, the London Literary 
Gazette began to republish the essays of "The Sketch-Book" 
serially, and their success was immediate. In a short time 
it became necessary that Irying should assume the responsi- 
bility for the republication of his own essays in order to pro- 
tect himself. He applied first to Murray, who dechned the 
honor. A little later, in January, 1820, he made a contract 
with a publisher named Miller, and volume one was brought 
out in February. It sold rapidly, but just when success and 
profits seemed secure the publisher failed. At this juncture, 
Walter Scott, who had come to London to assume his title, 
induced Murray to undertake the publication of Irving's 
works. The success of "The Sketch- Book" in England was 
such that in October of the same year Murray wrote to Irving, 
begging him to draw on the house for one hundred guineas 
in addition to the terms agreed upon in the contract, and in the 
following June he again paid the author a sum in excess of 
the agreement. This was the beginning of Irving's success 
as a man of letters, and thereafter, whatever he found time 
to write was eagerly welcomed and brought him both honor 
and profit in generous measure. 

ix 



X INTRODUCTION 

In Blackwood's Magazine, February, 1820, "A Royal Poet" 
and "The Country Church" were quoted in full from number 
three of "The Sketch-Book" with the following comment on 
the style of the writing : — 

The style in which this [" A Royal Poet "] is written may be taken as 
a fair specimen of Irving 's more serious manner — - it is, we think 
very graceful — infinitely more so than any piece of American writing 
that ever came from any other hand, and well entitled to be classed 
with the best English writing of our day. . . . Nothing has been 
written for a long time for which it would be more safe to promise 
great and eager acceptance. The story of "Rip Van Winkle," — 
the "Country Life in England," the account of his voyage across the 
Atlantic, and "The Broken Heart," — are all, in their several 
waj^s, very exquisite and classical pieces of writing, alike honorable 
to the intellect and the heart of their author. 

In the July number of Blackwood's Magazine of the same 
year, "Knickerbocker's History of New York" was reviewed, 
and this tribute to the author's genius was added : — 

Mr. Washington Mrving is one of our first favorites among the 
English writers of this age — and he is not a bit less so for having been 
born in America. .• . . He well knows that his "thews and sinews" 
are not all, for which he is indebted to his English ancestry. . . . The 
great superiority over too many of his countrymen, evinced by Mr. 
Irving on every occasion, when he speaks of the manners, the spirit, 
the faith of England', has, without doubt, done much to gain for him 
our affection. But had he never expressed one sentiment favorable 
to us or to our country, we should still have been compelled to confess 
that we regard him as by far the greatest genius that has arisen on the 
literary horizon of the new world. 



Contents of the First Edition of "The Sketch-Book" 
OF Geoffrey Crayon, Gent. 

(Originally issued in numbers in New York, and reprinted in England.) 

Number One, published May 15, 1819. 

The Author's Account of Himself. 

The Voyage. 

Roscoe. 

The Wife. 

Rip Van Winkle. 



INTRODUCTION XI 

Number Two, published in July, 1819. 
English Writers on America. 
Rural Life in England. 
The Broken Heart. 
The Art of Book Making. 

Number Three, published September 13, 1819. 
A Royal Poet. 
The Country Church. 
The Widow and Her Son. 
The Boar's Head Tavern, Eastcheap. 

Number Four, published November 10, 1819. 
The Mutability of Literature. 
The Spectre Bridegroom. 
Rural Funerals. 

Number Five, published in December, 1819. 
Christmas. 
The Stage-Coach. 
Christmas Eve. 
Christmas Day. 
The Christmas Dinner. 

Number Six, published in March, 1820. 
The Pride of the Village. 
The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. 
John Bull. 

Number Seven, published September 13, 1820. 
Westminster Abbey. 
Stratford-on-Avon. 
Little Britain. 
The Angler. 

Reprinted in the English edition from the Analectic Maga- 
zine, New York. 
Traits of Indian Character. 
Philip of Pokanoket. 



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THE AUTHOR'S APOLOGY FOR 
"THE SKETCH-BOOK" 

A FEW words from the Prospectus of the first edition seem 
a most fitting introduction to "The Sketch-Book." 

"The following writings are published on experiment; 
should they please they may be followed by others. The 
writer will have to contend with some disadvantages. He is 
unsettled in his abode, subject to interruptions, and has his 
share of cares and vicissitudes. He cannot, therefore, prom- 
ise a regular plan, nor regular periods of publication. Should 
he be encouraged to proceed, much time may elapse between 
the appearance of his numbers ; and their size will depend on 
the materials he may have on hand. His writings will par- 
take of the fluctuations of his own thoughts and feelings — 
sometimes treating of scenes before him, sometimes of others 
purely imaginary, and sometimes wandering back with his 
recollections to his native country. He will not be able to 
give them that tranquil attention necessary to finished com- 
position ; and as they must be transmitted across the Atlantic 
for publication, he will have to trust to others to correct the 
frequent errors of the press. Should his writings, however, 
with all their imperfections, be well received, he cannot con- 
ceal that it would be a source of the purest gratification ; for 
though he does not aspire to those high honors which are 
the rewards of loftier intellects, yet it is the dearest wish of 
his heart to have a secure and cherished, though humble 
corner in the good opinions and kind feelings of his country- 
men." 



xvu 




SUNNYSIDE," THE HOME OF WASHINGTON IrVING 



CONTENTS 



/ 



I. IRVING, THE TRAVELLER, IN RURAL 
ENGLAND 

The Author's Account of Himself 

The Voyage . 

Rural Life in England 

The Country Church . 

The Widow and her Son 

Christmas 

The Stage Coach 

Christmas Eve 

Christmas Day 



/ 



The Christmas Dinner 



PAGE 
1 

4 
11 
19 
25 
37 
43 
50 
62 
76 



II. IRVING, THE MAN OF LETTERS, IN LONDON 

AND ELSEWHERE 

Little Britain ......... 91 

A Sunday in London ........ 110 

London Antiques 112 

The Boar's Head Tavern, Eastcheap .... 121 

Westminster Abbey . . . . . . . . 136 

The Mutability of Literature 149 

John Bull .......... 162 

Stratford-on-Avon ........ 174 

Abbotsford .......... 197 

xix 



XX CONTENTS 



III. IRVING, THE STORY-TELLER 

PAGE 

Rip Van Winkle ......... 257 

The Legend of Sleepy Holloav 288 

The Inn Kitchen 331 

The Spectre Bridegroom 334 

^L'Envoy 350 

Topics for Study 353 

Notes 387 

Bibliography ......... 411 

Irving's Appendix ........ 416 



THE SKETCH-BOOK 



THE AUTHOR'S ACCOUNT OF HIMSELF 

*' I am of this mind with Homer, that as the snail e that crept out of 
her shel was turned eftsoons into a toad, and thereby was forced to 
make a stoole to sit on ; so the traveller that straggleth from his owne 
country is in a short time transformed into so monstrous a shape that 
he is f aine to alter his mansion with his manners, and to live, where 
he can, not where he would." — Lyly's Euphues. 

1. I was always fond of visiting new scenes, and observing 
strange characters and manners. Even when a mere child I 
began my travels, and made many tours of discovery into 
foreign parts and unknown regions of my native city, to the 
frequent alarm of my parents, and the emolument of the town- 
crier. As I grew into boyhood, I extended the range of my 
observations. My holiday afternoons were spent in rambles 
about the surrounding country. I made myself famihar 
with all its places famous in history or fable. I knew every 
spot where a murder or robbery had been committed, or a 
ghost seen. I visited the neighboring villages, and added 
greatly to my stock of knowledge by noting their habits and 
customs, and conversing with their sages and great men. 
I even journeyed one long summer's day to the summit of 
the most distant hill, whence I stretched my eye over many a 
mile of terra incognita, and was astonished to find how vast a 
globe I inhabited. 

2. This rambling propensity strengthened with my years. 
Books of voyages and travels became my passion, and in de- 
vouring their contents, I neglected the regular exercises of the 
school. How wistfully would I wander about the pier-heads 
in fine weather, and watch the parting ships, bound to distant 
climes ; with what longing eyes would I gaze after their les- 
sening sails, and waft myself in imagination to the ends of the 
earth! 

1 



2 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

3. Further reading and thinking, though they brought this 
vague incHnation into more reasonable bounds, only served to 
make it more decided. I visited various parts of my own coun- 
try; and had I been merely a lover of fine scenery, I should 
have felt Httle desire to seek elsewhere its gratification, for on 
no country have the charms of nature been more prodigally 
lavished. Her mighty lakes, like oceans of liquid silver, 
her mountains, with their bright aerial tints; her valleys, 
teeming with wild fertility ; her tremendous cataracts, thun- 
dering in their solitudes; her boundless plains, waving with 
spontaneous verdure ; her broad deep rivers, rolling in solemn 
silence to the ocean; her trackless forests, where vegetation 
puts forth all its magnificence ; her skies, kindling with the 
magic of summer clouds and glorious sunshine ; — no, never 
need an American look beyond his own country for the sublime 
and beautiful of natural scenery. 

4. But Europe held forth the charms of storied and poetical 
association. There were to be seen the masterpiece of art, 
the refinements of highly cultivated society, the quaint pecu- 
liarities of ancient and local custom. My native country was 
full of youthful promise : Europe was rich in the accumulated 
treasures of age. Her very ruins told the history of times gone 
by, and every mouldering stone was a chronicle. I longed to 
wander over the scenes of renowned achievement, — to tread, 
as it were, in the footsteps of antiquity, — to loiter about 
the ruined castle, — to meditate on the falling tower, — to 
escape, in short, from the commonplace realities of the present, 
and lose myself among the shadowy grandeurs of the past. 

5. I had, beside all this, an earnest desire to see the great 
men of the earth. We have, it is true, our great men in 
America : not a city but has an ample share of them. I have 
mingled among them in my time, and been almost withered 
by the shade into which they cast me; for there is nothing 
so baleful to a small man as the shade of a great one, par- 
ticularly the great man of a city. But I was anxious to see 
the great men of Europe; for I had read in the works of 
various philosophers, that all animals degenerated in America, 
and man among the number. A great man of Europe, 



THE AUTHOR S ACCOUNT OF HIMSELF 3 

thought I, must therefore be as superior to a great man of 
America as a peak of the Alps to a highland of the Hudson ; 
and in this idea I was confirmed by observing the comparative 
importance and swelling magnitude of many English trav- 
ellers among us, who, I was assured, were very little people 
in their own country. I will visit this land of wonders, 
thought I, and see the gigantic race from which I am degen- 
erated. 

6. It has been either my good or evil lot to have my roving 
passion gratified. I have wandered through different coun- 
tries, and witnessed many of the shifting scenes of life. I can- 
not say that I have studied them with the eye of a philosopher, 
but rather with the sauntering gaze with which humble lovers 
of the picturesque stroll from the window of one print-shop to 
another, caught sometimes by the delineations of beauty, 
sometimes by the distortions of caricature, and sometimes by 
the loveliness of landscape. As it is the fashion for modern 
tourists to travel pencil in hand, and bring home their port- 
folios filled with sketches, I am disposed to get up a few for 
the entertainment of my friends. When, however, I look 
over the hints and memorandums I have taken down for the 
purpose, my heart almost fails me at finding how my idle 
humor has led me aside from the great objects studied by 
every regular traveller who would make a book. I fear I shall 
give equal disappointment with an unlucky landscape-painter, 
who had travelled on the continent, but, following the bent 
of his vagrant inclination, had sketched in nooks, and corners, 
and by-places. His sketch-book was accordingly crowded 
with cottages, and landscapes, and obscure ruins; but he 
had neglected to paint St. Peter's, or the CoHseum ; the cascade 
of Terni, or the bay of Naples ; and had not a single glacier 
or volcano in his whole collection. 



THE VOYAGE 

[Comment. — " The Voyage " is living's memory of the 
effect of the sea-voyage upon himself, and of his occupations 
during the time spent upon the sea. Other travellers would 
write of real occupations, of games, of Sunday services, prom- 
enades on deck, companions of the voyage, etc., but Irving 
speaks only of his own mental occupations. Each that he 
mentions leads by some natural association or suggestion to 
the next one to be described. Thus, from the beginning of 
the essay, there is a close sequence of thought. In the first 
place, he contrasts the effect on the mind, of a sea-voyage 
and that of a land journey; this naturally leads the author 
to speak of his own experience as illustrating what he has 
just written. Then, in the beginning of paragraph four, by 
way of transition and introduction he writes, "... a sea- 
voyage is full of subjects for meditation," — and from here 
on to the end of the essay, each topic suggests the next. D.] 

Ships, ships, I will descrie you 

Amidst the main, 
I will come and try you, 
What you are protecting, 
And projecting. 

What's your end and aim. 
One goes abroad for merchandise and trading, 
Another stays to keep his country from invading, 
A third is coming home with rich and wealthy lading. 
Halloo ! my fancie, whither wilt thou go? — Old Poem. 

1. To an American visiting Europe, the long voyage he has 
to make is an excellent preparative. The temporary absence 
of worldly scenes and employments produces a state of mind 
peculiarly fitted to receive new and vivid impressions. The 
vast space of waters that separates the hemispheres is like 
a blank page in existence. There is no gradual transition, by 
which, as in Europe, the features and population of one 
country blend almost imperceptibly with those of another. 
From the moment you lose sight of the land you have left, all 
is vacancy until you step on the opposite shore, and are 
launched at once into the bustle and novelties of another 
world. 

4 



THE VOYAGE 5 

2. In travelling by land there is a continuity of scene and 
a connected succession of persons and incidents, that carry 
on the story of life, and lessen the effect of absence and sepa- 
ration. We drag, it is true, "a lengthening chain" at each 
remove of our pilgrimage ; but the chain is unbroken : we 
can trace it back link by link ; and we feel that the last still 
grapples us to home. But a wide sea- voyage severs us at 
once. It makes us conscious of being cast loose from the 
secure anchorage of settled life, and sent adrift upon a doubt- 
ful world. It interposes a gulf, not merely imaginary, but 
real, between us and our homes, — a gulf subject to tempest, 
and fear, and uncertainty, rendering distance palpable, and 
return precarious. 

3. Such, at least, was the case with myself. As I saw the 
last blue line of my native land fade away like a cloud in the 
horizon, it seemed as if I had closed one volume of the world 
and its concerns, and had time for meditation, before I opened 
another. That land, too, now vanishing from my view, 
which contained all most dear to me in life ; what vicissitudes 
might occur in it, what changes might take place in me, before 
I should visit it again ! Who can tell, when he sets forth to 
wander, whither he may be driven by the uncertain currents 
of existence ; or when he may return ; or whether it may ever 
be his lot to revisit the scenes of his childhood? 

4. I said that at sea all is vacancy; I should correct the 
expression. To one given to day-dreaming, and fond of 
losing himself in reveries, a sea- voyage is full of subjects for 
meditation ; but then they are the wonders of the deep, and 
of the air, and rather tend to abstract the mind from worldly 
themes. I delighted to loll over the quarter-railing, or climb 
to the main-top, of a calm day, and muse for hours together on 
the tranquil bosom of a summer's sea ; to gaze upon the piles 
of golden clouds just peeping above the horizon, fancy them 
some fairy realms, and people them with a creation of my own ; 
— to watch the gentle undulating billows, rolling their silver 
volumes, as if to die away on those happy shores. 

5. There was a delicious sensation of mingled security and 
awe with which I looked down, from my giddy height, on the 



6 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

monsters of the deep at their uncouth gambols. Shoals of 
porpoises tumbling about the bow of the ship ; the grampus 
slowly heaving his huge form above the surface ; or the rav- 
enous shark, darting, like a spectre, through the blue waters. 
My imagination would conjure up all that I had heard or read 
of the watery world beneath me ; of the finny herds that roam 
its fathomless valleys; of the shapeless monsters that lurk 
among the very foundations of the earth ; and of those wild 
phantasms that swell the tales of fishermen and sailors. 

6. Sometimes a distant sail, gliding along the edge of the 
ocean, would be another theme of idle speculation. How 
interesting this fragment of a world, hastening to rejoin the 
great mass of existence ! What a glorious monument of 
human invention; which has in a manner triumphed over 
wind and wave ; has brought the ends of the world into com- 
munion ; has established an interchange of blessings, pouring 
into the sterile regions of the north all the luxuries of the 
south ; has diffused the light of knowledge and the charities 
of cultivated life; and has thus bound together those scat- 
tered portions of the human race, between which nature 
seemed to have thrown an insurmountable barrier. 

7. We one day descried some shapeless object drifting at 
a distance. At sea, everything that breaks the monotony 
of the surrounding expanse attracts attention. It proved to 
be the mast of a ship that must have been completely wrecked ; 
for there were the remains of handkerchiefs, by which some of 
the crew had fastened themselves to this spar, to prevent their 
being washed off by the waves. There was no trace by which 
the name of the ship could be ascertained. The wreck had 
evidently drifted about for many months; clusters of shell- 
fish had fastened about it, and long seaweeds flaunted at its 
sides. But where, thought I, is the crew? Their struggle 
has long been over, — they have gone down amidst the roar 
of the tempest, — their bones lie whitening among the caverns 
of the deep. Silence, oblivion, like the waves, have closed 
over them, and no one can tell the story of their end. What 
sighs have been wafted after that ship ! what prayers offered 
up at the deserted fireside at home ! How often has the 



THE VOYAGE 7 

mistress, the wife, the mother, pored over the daily news, to 
catch some casual intelligence of this rover of the deep ! How 
has expectation darkened into anxiety — anxiety into dread 
— and dread into despair ! Alas ! not one memento may 
ever return for love to cherish. All that may ever be known, 
is, that she sailed from her port, "and was never heard of 
more ! " 

8. The sight of this wreck, as usual, gave rise to many dis- 
mal anecdotes. This was particularly the case in the evening, 
when the weather, which had hitherto been fair, began to look 
wild and threatening, and gave indications of one of those 
sudden storms which will sometimes break in upon the seren- 
ity of a summer voyage. As we sat round the dull light of a 
lamp in the cabin, that made the gloom more ghastly, every 
one had his tale of shipwreck and disaster. I was particularly 
struck with a short one related by the captain. 

9. "As I was once sailing," said he, "in a fine stout ship 
across the banks of Newfoundland, one of those heavy fogs 
which prevail in those parts rendered it impossible for us to 
see far ahead even in the daytime ; but at night the weather 
was so thick that we could not distinguish any object at twice 
the length of the ship. I kept lights at the mast-head, and a 
constant watch forward to look out for fishing-smacks, which 
are accustomed to lie at anchor on the banks. The wind was 
blowing a smacking breeze, and we were going at a great rate 
through the water. Suddenly the watch gave the alarm of 
' a sail ahead ! ' — it was scarcely uttered before we were upon 
her. She was a small schooner, at anchor, with her broadside 
towards iis. The crew were all asleep, and had neglected to 
hoist a fight. We struck her just amidships. The force, the 
size, and weight of our vessel bore her down below the waves ; 
we passed over her, and were hurried on our course. As the 
crashing wreck was sinking beneath us, I had a glimpse of two 
or three half-naked wretches rushing from her cabin; they 
just started from their beds to be swallowed shrieking by the 
waves. I heard their drowning cry mingling with the wind. 
The blast that bore it to our ears swept us out of all farther 
hearing. I shall never forget that cry ! It was some time 



8 • THE SKETCH-BOOK 

before we could put the ship about, she was under such head- 
way. We returned, as nearly as we could guess, to the place 
where the smack had anchored. We cruised about for 
several hours in the dense fog. We fired signal-guns, and 
listened if we might hear the halloo of any survivors; but all 
was silent — we never saw or heard anything of them more." 

10. I confess these stories, for a time, put an end to all my 
fine fancies. The storm increased with the night. The sea 
was lashed into tremendous confusion. There was a fearful, 
sullen sound of rushing waves, and broken surges. Deep 
called unto deep. At times the black volume of clouds over- 
head seemed rent asunder by flashes of lightning which quiv- 
ered along the foaming billows, and made the succeeding 
darkness doubly terrible. The thunders bellowed over the 
wild waste of waters, and were echoed and prolonged by the 
mountain-waves. As I saw the ship staggering and plunging 
among these roaring caverns, it seemed miraculous that she 
regained her balance, or preserved her buoyancy. Her yards 
would dip into the water : her bow was almost buried beneath 
the waves. Sometimes an impending surge appeared ready 
to overwhelm her, and nothing but a dexterous movement 
of the helm preserved her from the shock. 

11. When I retired to my cabin, the awful scene still 
followed me. The whistling of the wind through the rigging 
sounded like funereal wailings. The creaking of the masts, the 
straining and groaning of bulk-heads, as the ship labored in 
the weltering sea, were frightful. As I heard the waves rush- 
ing along the sides of the ship, and roaring in my very ear, 
it seemed as if Death were raging round this floating prison, 
seeking for his prey : the mere starting of a nail, the yawning 
of a seam, might give him entrance. 

12. A fine day, however, with a tranquil sea and favoring 
breeze, soon put all these dismal reflections to flight. It is 
impossible to resist the gladdening influence of fine weather 
and fair wind at sea. When the ship is decked out in all her 
canvas, every sail swelled, and careering gayly over the curling 
waves, how lofty, how gaUant she appears — how she seems 
to lord it over the deep ! 



THE VOYAGE 9 

13. I might fill a volume with the reveries of a sea- voyage, 
for with me it is almost a continual reverie, — but it is time 
to get to shore. 

14. It was a fine sunny morning when the thrilling cry of 
''land!" was given from the mast-head. None but those 
who have experienced it can form an idea of the delicious 
throng of sensations which rush into an American's bosom, 
when he first comes in sight of Europe. There is a volume 
of associations with the very name. It is the land of promise, 
teeming with everything of which his childhood has heard, 
or on which his studious years have pondered. 

15. From that time until the moment of arrival, it was all 
feverish excitement. The ships-of-war, that prowled like 
guardian giants along the coast ; the headlands of Ireland, 
stretching out into the channel; the Welsh mountains, tow- 
ering into the clouds; all were objects of intense interest. 
As we sailed up the Mersey, I reconnoitred the shores with 
a telescope. My eye dwelt with delight on neat cottages, with 
their trim shrubberies and green grass plots. I saw the 
mouldering ruin of an abbey overrun with ivy, and the taper 
spire of a village church rising from the brow of a neighboring 
hill ; — all were characteristic of England. 

16. The tide and wind were so favorable that the ship was 
enabled to come at once to the pier. It was thronged with 
people: some, idle lookers-on; others, eager expectants of 
friends or relatives. I could distinguish the merchant to 
whom the ship was consigned. I knew him by his calculating 
brow and restless air. His hands were thrust into his pockets ; 
he was whistling thoughtfully, and walking to and fro, a small 
space having been accorded him by the crowd, in deference 
to his temporary importance. There were repeated cheerings 
and salutations interchanged between the shore and the 
ship, as friends happened to recognize each other. I par- 
ticularly noticed one young woman of humble dress, but 
interesting demeanor. She was leaning forward from among 
the crowd; her eye hurried over the ship as it neared the 
shore, to catch some wished-for countenance. She seemed 
disappointed and agitated ; when I heard a faint voice call her 



10 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

name. It was from a poor sailor who had been ill all the 
voyage, and had excited the sympathy of every one on board. 
When the weather was fine, his messmates had spread a mat- 
tress for him on deck in the shade ; but of late his illness had 
so increased, that he had taken to his hammock, and only 
breathed a wish that he might see his wife before he died. 
He had been helped on deck as we came up the river, and was 
now leaning against the shrouds, with a countenance so 
wasted, so pale, so ghastly, that it was no wonder even the 
eye of affection did not recognize him. But at the sound of 
his voice, her eye darted on his features : it read, at once, 
a whole volume of sorrow ; she clasped her hands, uttered a 
faint shriek, and stood wringing them in silent agony. 

17. All now was hurry and bustle. The meetings of ac- 
quaintances — the greeting of friends — the consultations 
of men of business. I alone was solitary and idle. I had no 
friend to meet, no cheering to receive. I stepped upon the 
land of my forefathers — but felt that I was a stranger in the 
land. 



RURAL LIFE IN ENGLAND 

"As yet a stranger in England and curious." 

— W. Irving in " The Country Church" (p. 20). 

[Comment. — Irving's point of view in describing rural life 
in England is that of a traveller who bears in mind the char- 
acteristics of the land from which he came and of the people 
whom, all his life, he has known intimately. Such an one first 
notices unfamiliar things and at once contrasts them in his 
own mind with well-known characteristics of life in his own 
land. Often, what he writes is as interesting to the people 
of the countries he visits as to those at home ; contrasts strike 
him sharply, and his attention is fastened upon customs 
so familiar as to have lost all significance among the very 
persons who habitually observe them. 

If the traveller be a thoughtful man, he next seeks to 
learn the effect upon the inhabitants of the country of a mode 
of life different from the one he knows, and he directs obser- 
vation and inquiry to this end. It results that his writing 
is much more than an entertaining description of pleasant 
journeying; contrasts or comparisons are suggested; or, in- 
ferences and explanations mingle with descriptive passages. 
In the end, certain typical qualities and characteristics stand 
forth clearly, and the reader finds that, while following the 
easy paragraphs of descriptive narration, he has gained an 
understanding of the land and of its inhabitants that is 
well proportioned, just, and widely applicable. In this way 
Irving has written ''Rural Life in England."^ D.] 

Oh. ! friendly to the best pursuits of man, 
Friendly to thought, to virtue, and to peace, 
Domestic life in rural pleasures past ! — Cowper. 

1. The stranger who would form a correct opinion of the 
Enghsh character must not confine his observations to the 
metropohs. He must go forth into the country; he must 
sojourn in villages and hamlets; he must visit castles, villas, 
farm-houses, cottages; he must wander through parks and 
gardens ; along hedges and green lanes ; he must loiter about 

^ For R. H. Dana's comment on this essay, see " Life and Letters,'* 
1, p. 319, or North American Review, No. 9, p. 322 ; for Irving's own 
reference to the difference between country life in England and 
country life in America, see " Life and Letters," II, p. 371. 

11 



12 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

country churches; attend wakes and fairs, and other rural 
festivals; and cope with the people in all their conditions, 
and all their habits and humors. 

2. In some countries the large cities absorb the wealth and 
fashion of the nation ; they are the only fixed abodes of ele- 
gant and intelligent society, and the country is inhabited 
almost entirely by boorish peasantry. In England, on the 
contrary, the metropolis is a mere gathering-place, or general 
rendezvous, of the polite classes, where they devote a small 
portion of the year to a hurry of gayety and dissipation, and, 
having indulged this kind of carnival, return again to the 
apparently more congenial habits of rural life. The various 
orders of society are therefore diffused over the whole surface 
of the kingdom, and the most retired neighborhoods afford 
specimens of the different ranks. 

3. The English, in fact, are strongly gifted with the rural 
feeling. They possess a quick sensibility to the beauties of 
nature, and a keen relish for the pleasures and employments of 
the country. This passion seems inherent in them. Even 
the inhabitants of cities, born and brought up among bric'k 
walls and bustling streets, enter with facility into rural habits, 
and evince a tact for rural occupation. The merchant has his 
snug retreat in the vicinity of the metropolis, where he often 
displays as much pride and zeal in the cultivation of his flower- 
garden, and the maturing of his fruits, as he does in the con- 
duct of his business, and the success of a commercial enter- 
prise. Even those less fortunate individuals who are doomed 
to pass their lives in the midst of din and traffic, contrive to 
have something that shall remind them of the green aspect 
of nature. In the most dark and dingy quarters of the city, 
the drawing-room window resembles frequently a bank of 
flowers; every spot capable of vegetation has its grass-plot 
and flower-bed ; and every square its mimic park, laid out 
with picturesque taste, and gleaming with refreshing verdure. 

4. Those who see the Englishman only in town are apt 
to form an unfavorable opinion of his social character. He 
is either absorbed in business or distracted by the thousand 
engagements that dissipate time, thought, and feeling in this 



RURAL LIFE IN ENGLAND 13 

huge metropolis. He has, therefore, too commonly a look 
of hurry and abstraction. Wherever he happens to be, he is 
on the point of going somewhere else ; at the moment he is 
talking on one subject, his mind is wandering to another ; and 
while paying a friendly visit, he is calculating how he shall 
economize time so as to pay the other visits allotted in the 
morning. An immense metropolis, like London, is calculated 
to make men selfish and uninteresting. In their casual and 
transient meetings they can but deal briefly in commonplaces. 
They present but the cold superficies of character — its rich 
and genial qualities have no time to be warmed into a flow. 

5. It is in the country that the Englishman gives scope to 
his natural feelings. He breaks loose gladly from the cold 
formalities and negative civilities of town, throws off his 
habits of shy reserve, and becomes joyous and free-hearted. 
He manages to collect round him all the conveniences and 
elegancies of polite life, and to banish its restraints. His 
country-seat abounds with every requisite, either for studious 
retirement, tasteful gratification, or rural exercise. Books, 
paintings, music, horses, dogs, and sporting implements of 
all kinds, are at hand. He puts no constraint either upon 
his guests or himself, but in the true spirit of hospitality pro- 
vides the means of enjoyment, and leaves every one to partake 
according to his inclination. 

6. The taste of the English in the cultivation of land, and 
in what is called landscape-gardening, is unrivalled. They 
have studied nature intently, and discover an exquisite sense 
of her beautiful forms and harmonious combinations. Those 
charms which in other countries she lavishes in wild solitudes, 
are here assembled round the haunts of domestic life. They 
seem to have caught her coy and furtive graces, and spread 
them, like witchery, about their rural abodes. 

7. Nothing can be more imposing than the magnificence 
of English park scenery. Vast lawns that extend hke sheets 
of vivid green, with here and there clumps of gigantic trees, 
heaping up rich piles of foliage : the solemn pomp of groves, 
and woodland glades, with the deer trooping in silent herds 
across them ; the hare, bounding away to the covert ; or the 



14 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

pheasant, suddenly bursting upon the wing: the brook, 
taught to wind in natural meanderings or expand into a glassy 
lake : the sequestered pool, reflecting the quivering trees, 
with the yellow leaf sleeping on its bosom, and the trout 
roaming fearlessly about its limpid waters ; while some rustic 
temple or sylvan statue, grown green and dank with age, gives 
an air of classic sanctity to the seclusion. 

8. These are but a few of the features of park scenery ; but 
what most delights me, is the creative talent with which the 
English decorate the unostentatious abodes of middle life. 
The rudest habitation, the most unpromising and scanty por- 
tion of land, in the hands of an Englishman of taste, becomes 
a little paradise. With a nicely discriminating eye, he seizes 
at once upon its capabilities, and pictures in his mind the 
future landscape. The sterile spot grows into loveliness under 
his hand, and yet the operations of art which produce the 
effect are scarcely to be perceived. The cherishing and train- 
ing of some trees ; the cautious pruning of others ; the nice 
distribution of flowers and plants of tender and graceful 
foliage ; the introduction of a green slope of velvet turf ; the 
partial opening to a peep of blue distance, or silver gleam of 
water : all these are managed with a delicate tact, a pervading 
yet quiet assiduity, like the magic touchings with which a 
painter finishes up a favorite picture. 

9. The residence of people of fortune and refinement in 
the country has diffused a degree of taste and elegance in rural 
economy that descends to the lowest class. The very laborer, 
with his thatched cottage and narrow slip of ground, attends 
to their embellishment. The trim hedge, the grass-plot be- 
fore the door, the little flower-bed bordered with snug box, the 
woodbine trained up against the wall, and hanging its blossoms 
about the lattice, the pot of flowers in the window, the holly 
providently planted about the house, to cheat winter of 
its dreariness, and to throw in a semblance of green summer 
to cheer the fireside : all these bespeak the influence of taste, 
flowing down from high sources, and pervading the lowest 
levels of the public mind. If ever Love, as poets sing, delights 
to visit a cottage, it must be the cottage of an English peasant. 



RUKAL LIFE IN ENGLAND 15 

10. The fondness for rural life among the higher classes of 
the English has had a great and salutary effect upon the na- 
tional character. I do not know a finer race of men than the 
English gentlemen. Instead of the softness and effeminacy 
which characterize the men of rank in most countries, they 
exhibit a union of elegance and strength, a robustness of 
frame and freshness of complexion which I am inclined to 
attribute to their living so much in the open air, and pursuing 
so eagerly the invigorating recreations of the country. These 
hardy exercises produce also a healthful tone of mind and 
spirits, and a manliness and simplicity of manners which even 
the follies and dissipations of the town cannot easily pervert, 
and can never entirely destroy. In the country, too, the 
different orders of society seem to approach more freely, to be 
more disposed to blend and operate favorably upon each other. 
The distinctions between them do not appear to be so marked 
and impassable as in the cities. The manner in which prop- 
erty has been distributed into small estates and farms has 
established a regular gradation from the noblemen, through 
the classes of gentry, small landed proprietors, and substantial 
farmers, down to the laboring peasantry; and while it has 
thus banded the extremes of society together, has infused into 
each intermediate rank a spirit of independence. This, it 
must be confessed, is not so universally the case at present as 
it was formerly, the larger estates having, in late years of dis- 
tress, absorbed the smaller, and, in some parts of the country, 
almost annihilated the sturdy race of small farmers. These, 
however, I believe, are but casual breaks in the general 
system I have mentioned. 

11. In rural occupation there is nothing mean and debasing. 
It leads a man forth among scenes of natural grandeur and 
beauty; it leaves him to the workings of his own mind, 
operated upon by the purest and most elevating of external 
influences. Such a man may be simple and rough, but he 
cannot be vulgar. The man of refinement, therefore, finds 
nothing revolting in an intercourse with the lower orders in 
rural life, as he does when he casually mingles with the lower 
orders of cities. He lays aside his distance and reserve, and is 



16 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

glad to waive the distinctions of rank, and to enter into the 
honest, heartfelt enjoyments of common life. Indeed the very 
amusements of the country bring men more and more to- 
gether ; and the sound of hound and horn blend all feelings 
into harmony. I believe this is one great reason why the 
nobility and gentry are more popular among the inferior 
orders in England than they are in any other country; and 
why the latter have endured so many excessive pressures 
and extremities, without repining more generally at the un- 
equal distribution of fortune and privilege. 

12. To this mingling of cultivated and rustic society may 
also be attributed the rural feeling that runs through British 
literature; the frequent use of illustrations from rural life; 
those incomparable descriptions of nature that abound in the 
British poets, that have continued down from ''The Flower 
and the Leaf" of Chaucer, and have brought into our closets 
all the freshness and fragrance of the dewy landscape. The 
pastoral writers of other countries appear as if they had paid 
nature an occasional visit, and become acquainted with her 
general charms ; but the British poets have lived and revelled 
with her , — they have wooed her in her most secret haunts 
— they have watched her minutest caprices. A spray could 
not tremble in the breeze — a leaf could not rustle to the 
ground — a diamond drop could not patter in the stream — 
a fragrance could not exhale from the humble violet, nor a 
daisy unfold its crimson tints to the morning, but it has been 
noticed by these impassioned and delicate observers, and 
wrought up into some beautiful morality. 

13. The effect of this devotion of elegant minds to rural 
occupations has been wonderful on the face of the country. 
A great part of the island is rather level, and would be mo- 
notonous, were it not for the charms of culture; but it is 
studded and gemmed, as it were, with castles and palaces, and 
embroidered with parks and gardens. It does not abound 
in grand and sublime prospects, but rather in little home- 
scenes of rural repose and sheltered quiet. Every antique 
farm-house and moss-grown cottage is a picture ; and as the 
roads are continually winding, and the view is shut in by 



RURAL LIFE IN ENGLAND 17 

groves and hedges, the eye is deHghted by a continual suc- 
cession of small landscapes of captivating loveliness. 

14. The great charm, however, of English scenery is the 
moral feeling that seems to pervade it. It is associated in the 
mind with ideas of order, of quiet, of sober, well-established 
principles, of hoary usage and reverend custom. Everything 
seems to be the growth of ages of regular and peaceful exis- 
tence. The old church of remote architecture, with its low, 
massive portal; its Gothic tower; its windows rich with 
tracery and painted glass, in scrupulous preservation; its 
stately monuments of warriors and worthies of the olden 
time, ancestors of the present lords of the soil ; its tombstones, 
recording successive generations of sturdy yeomanry, whose 
progeny still plough the same fields, and kneel at the same 
altar ; — the parsonage, a quaint, irregular pile, partly 
antiquated, but repaired and altered in the tastes of various 
ages and occupants ; — the stile and foot-path leading from 
the churchyard, across pleasant fields, and along shady hedge- 
rows, according to an immemorial right of way ; — the neigh- 
boring village, with its venerable cottages, its public green 
sheltered by trees, under which the forefathers of the present 
race have sported ; — the antique family mansion, standing 
apart in some little rural domain, but looking down with a 
protecting air on the surrounding scene : all these common 
features of English landscape evince a calm and settled 
security, and hereditary transmission of home-bred virtues 
and local attachments, that speak deeply and touchingly for 
the moral character of the nation. 

15. It is a pleasing sight of a Sunday morning, when the 
bell is sending its sober melody across the quiet fields, to 
behold the peasantry in their best finery, with ruddy faces 
and modest cheerfulness, thronging tranquilly along the 
green lanes to church; but it is still more pleasing to see 
them in the evenings, gathering about their cottage-doors, and 
appearing to exult in the humble comforts and embellishments 
which their own hands have spread around them. 

16. It is this sweet home-feeling, this settled repose of 
affection in the domestic scene, that is, after all, the parent 



18 



THE SKETCH-BOOK 



of the steadiest virtues and purest enjoyments ; and I cannot 
close these desultory remarks better than by quoting the 
words of a modern English poet, who has depicted it with 
remarkable felicity: — 

Through each gradation, from the castled hall, 

The city dome, the villa crown 'd with shade, 

But chief from modest mansions numberless, 

In town or hamlet, shelt'ring middle life, 

Down to the cottaged vale, and straw-roof 'd shed; 

This western isle hath long been famed for scenes 

Where bliss domestic finds a dwelling-place ; 

Domestic bliss, that, like a harmless dove, 

(Honor and sweet endearment keeping, guard,) 

Can centre in a little quiet nest 

All that desire would fly for through the earth ; 

That can, the world eluding, be itself 

A world enjoy 'd ; that wants no witnesses 

But its own sharers, and approving heaven ; 

That, like a flower deep hid in rocky cleft. 

Smiles, though 'tis looking only at the sky.^ 

^ From a poem on the death of the Princess Charlotte, by the 
Reverend Rann Kennedy, A.M. 







An English Country Church 



THE COUNTRY CHURCH 

[Comment, — This essay illustrates Irving's usual habit of 
organization in his written papers; there is, iirst, a general 
statement which serves as an explanation of his own special 
interest; then follows a descriptive narrative in which place, 
circumstances, particulars pertinent to the topic, gradually- 
lead the reader to the point of view, or to the incident, in the 
author's mind from the beginning. In this essay, the general 
observation takes the form of an incident. D.] 

A gentleman ! 
What, o ' the Woolpack ? or the sugar-chest ? 
Or lists of velvet ? which is 't, pound, or yard, 
You vend your gentry by? — Beggar's Bush. 

1. There are few places inore favorable to the study of 
character than an English country church. I was once 
passing a few weeks at the seat of a friend, who resided in 
the vicinity of one, the appearance of which particularly 
struck my fancy. It was one of those rich morsels of quaint 
antiquity which give such a peculiar charm to English land- 
scape. It stood in the midst of a country filled with ancient 
families, and contained, within its cold and silent aisles, the 
congregated dust of many noble generations. The interior 
walls were incrusted with monuments of every age and style. 
The light streamed through windows dimmed with armorial 
bearings, richly emblazoned in stained glass. In various 
parts of the church were tombs of knights and high-born 
dames, of gorgeous workmanship, with their effigies in colored 
marble. On every side the eye was struck with some instance 
of aspiring mortality ; some haughty memorial which human 
pride had erected over its kindred dust, in this temple of the 
most humble of all religions. 

2. The congregation was composed of the neighboring people 
of rank, who sat in pews, sumptuously lined and cushioned, 
furnished with richly gilded prayer-books, and decorated with 
their arms upon the pew-doors ; of the villagers and peasantry, 
who filled the back seats, and a small gallery beside the organ ; 

19 



20 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

and of the poor of the parish, who were ranged on benches 
in the aisles. 

3. The service was performed by a snuffling, well-fed vicar, 
who had a snug dwelling near the church. He was a privi- 
leged guest at all the tables of the neighborhood, and had 
been the keenest fox-hunter in the country; until age and 
good living had disabled him from doing anything more than 
ride to see the hounds throw off, and make one at the hunting- 
dinner. 

4. Under the ministry of such a pastor, I found it impos- 
sible to get into the train of thought suitable to the time and 
place : so, having, like many other feeble Christians, com- 
promised with my conscience, by laying the sin of my own 
delinquency at another person's threshold, I occupied myself 
by making observations on my neighbors. 

5. I was as yet a stranger in England, and curious to notice 
the manners of its fashionable classes. I found, as usual, 
that there was the least pretension where there was the most 
acknowledged title to respect. I was particularly struck, 
for instance, with the family of a nobleman of high rank, con- 
sisting of several sons and daughters. Nothing could be more 
simple and unassuming than their appearance. They gen- 
erally came to church in the plainest equipage, and often on 
foot. The young ladies would stop and converse in the kind- 
est manner with the peasantry, caress the children, and listen 
to the stories of the humble cottagers. Their countenances 
were open and beautifully fair, with an expression of high 
refinement, but, at the same time, a frank cheerfulness, and an 
engaging affability. Their brothers were tall, and elegantly 
formed. They were dressed fashionably, but simply; with 
strict neatness and propriety, but without any mannerism 
or foppishness. Their whole demeanor was easy and natural, 
with that lofty grace and noble frankness which bespeak 
freeborn souls that have never been checked in their growth 
by feelings of inferiority. There is a healthful hardiness about 
real dignity, that never dreads contact and communion with 
others, however humble. It is only spurious pride that is 
morbid and sensitive, and shrinks from every touch. I was 



THE COUNTRY CHURCH 21 

pleased to see the manner in which they would converse with 
the peasantry about those rural concerns and field-sports in 
which the gentlemen of this country so much delight. In 
these conversations there was neither haughtiness on the one 
part, nor servility on the other ; and you were only reminded 
of the difference of rank by the habitual respect of the peasant. 

6. In contrast to these was the family of a wealthy citizen, 
who had amassed a vast fortune; and, having purchased 
the estate and mansion of a ruined nobleman in the neigh- 
borhood, was endeavoring to assume all the style and dignity 
of an hereditary lord of the soil. The family always came to 
church en prince. They were rolled majestically along in a 
carriage emblazoned with arms. The crest glittered in silver 
radiance from every part of the harness where a crest could 
possibly be placed. A fat coachman, in a three-cornered hat, 
richly laced, and a flaxen wig, curling close round his rosy 
face, was seated on the box, with a sleek Danish dog beside 
him. Two footmen, in gorgeous liveries, with huge bouquets, 
and gold-headed canes, lolled behind. The carriage rose and 
sunk on its long springs with peculiar stateliness of motion. 
The very horses champed their bits, arched their necks, and 
glanced their eyes more proudly than common horses ; either 
because they had caught a little of the family feeling, or 
were reined up more tightly than ordinary. 

7. I could not but admire the style with which this splendid 
pageant was brought up to the gate of the churchyard. There 
was a vast effect produced at the turning of an angle of the 
wall ; — a great smacking of the whip, straining and scram- 
bling of horses, glistening of harness, and flashing of wheels 
through gravel. This was the moment of triumph and vain- 
glory to the coachman. The horses were urged and checked 
until they were fretted into a foam. They threw out their 
feet in a prancing trot, dashing about pebbles at every step. 
The crowd of villagers sauntering quietly to church, opened 
precipitately to the right and left, gaping in vacant admira- 
tion. On reaching the gate, the horses were pulled up with a 
suddenness that produced an immediate stop, and almost 
threw them on their haunches. 



22 THE ^KETCH-BOOK 

8. There was an extraordinary hurry of the footmen to 
aUght, pull down the steps, and prepare everything for the 
descent on earth of this august family. The old citizen first 
emerged his round red face from out the door, looking about 
him with the pompous air of a man accustomed to rule on 
'Change, and shake the Stock Market with a nod. His con- 
sort, a fine, fleshy, comfortable dame, followed him. There 
seemed, I must confess, but little pride in her composition. 
She was the picture of broad, honest, vulgar enjoyment. The 
world went well with her; and she liked the world. She 
had fine clothes, a fine house, a fine carriage, fine children, 
everything was fine about her : it was nothing but driving 
about, and visiting and feasting. Life was to her a perpetual 
revel; it was one long Lord Mayor's day. 

9. Two daughters succeeded to this goodly couple. They 
certainly were handsome; but had a superciUous air, that 
chilled admiration, and disposed the spectator to be critical. 
They were ultra-fashionable in dress; and, though no one 
could deny the richness of their decorations, yet their ap- 
propriateness might be questioned amidst the simplicity of a 
country church. They descended loftily from the carriage, 
and moved up the line of peasantry with a step that seemed 
dainty of the soil it trod on. They cast an exclusive glance 
around, that passed coldly over the burly faces of the peas- 
antry, until they met the eyes of the nobleman's family, when 
their countenances immediately brightened into smiles, and 
they made the most profound and elegant courtesies, which 
were returned in a manner that showed they were but slight 
acquaintances. 

10. I must not forget the two sons of this aspiring citizen, 
who came to church in a dashing curricle, with outriders. 
They were arrayed in the extremity of the mode, with all that 
pedantry of dress which marks the man of questionable pre- 
tensions to style. They kept entirely by themselves, eying 
every one askance that came near them, as if measuring his 
claims to respectability ; yet they were without conversation, 
except the exchange of an occasional cant phrase. They 
even moved artificially; for their bodies, in compliance with 



THE COUNTRY CHURCH 23 

the caprice of the day, had been discipUned into the absence 
of all ease and freedom. Art had done everything to ac- 
complish them as men of fashion, but nature had denied them 
the nameless grace. They were vulgarly shaped, like men 
formed for the common purposes of life, and had that air of 
supercilious assumption which is never seen in the true gentle- 
man. 

11. I have been rather minute in drawing the pictures of 
these two families, because I considered them specimens of 
what is often to be met with in this country — the unpre- 
tending great, and the arrogant little. I have no respect for 
titled rank, unless it be accompanied with true nobility of 
soul; but I have remarked in all countries where artificial 
distinctions exist, that the very highest classes are always 
the most courteous and unassuming. Those who are well 
assured of their own standing are least apt to trespass on that 
of others ; whereas nothing is so offensive as the aspirings of 
vulgarity, which thinks to elevate itself by humihating its 
neighbor. 

12. As I have brought these families into contrast, I must 
notice their behavior in church. That of the nobleman's 
family was quiet, serious, and attentive. Not that they ap- 
peared to have any fervor of devotion, but rather a respect for 
sacred things, and sacred places, inseparable from good breed- 
ing. The others, on the contrary, were in a perpetual flutter 
and whisper; they betrayed a continual consciousness of 
finery, and a sorry ambition of being the wonders of a rural 
congregation. 

13. The old gentleman was the only one really attentive 
to the service. He took the whole burden of family devotion 
upon himself, standing bolt upright, and uttering the re- 
sponses with a loud voice that might be heard all over the 
church. It was evident that he was one of those thorough 
church and king men, who connect the idea of devotion and 
loyalty; who consider the Deity, somehow or other, of the 
government party, and religion "a very excellent sort of thing 
that ought to be countenanced and kept up." 

14. When he joined so loudly in the service, it seemed more 



24 



THE SKETCH-BOOK 



by way of example to the lower orders, to show them that, 
though so great and wealthy, he was not above being religious ; 
as I have seen a turtle-fed alderman swallow publicly a basin 
of charity soup, smacking his Ups at every mouthful, and 
pronouncing it "excellent food for the poor." 

15. When the service was at, an end, I was curious to 
witness the several exits of my groups. The young noblemen 
and their sisters, as the day was fine, preferred strolling home 
across the fields, chatting with the country people as they 
went. The others departed as they came, in grand parade. 
Again were the equipages wheeled up to the gate. There was 
again the smacking of whips, the clattering of hoofs, and 
the glittering of harness. The horses started off almost at a 
bound; the villagers again hurried to right and left; the 
wheels threw up a cloud of dust ; and the aspiring family was 
rapt out of sight in a whirlwind. 




THE WIDOW AND HER SON 

[Comment. — The essay called ''The Widow and her Son," 
is in narrative form, and, although it reads very easily and 
pleasantly, the form is more complex and difficult than in 
many a long, exciting story. In fact, there are in it the 
elements or skeleton outlines of three different stories, each 
inclosed within, or dependent upon, another. First, is the 
story of the stranger travelling in England, who frequents the 
country church; this runs like a thread or setting to the end 
of the essay; the traveller is the narrator of the incident 
Irving wishes to tell. A few lines, here and there, remind the 
reader of his personality, and outline his story as it originally 
occurred from the beginning when he first observed the old 
woman sitting alone on the steps of the altar, to the moment 
when he heard of her death. 

The story of the poor woman as it came to the knowledge of 
the narrator is next ; it is this for which the essay was written, 
and the author tells it to us because it interested him deeply; 
our interest in the story arises chiefly through the interest 
of our friend, the traveller, and for this reason he tells the 
incidents in the order in which he learned of them ; the very 
first part of the real story, coming last of all. Finally, there 
is the story told by the friend of poor Mrs. Somers; — only 
from a friend who had long known the family could a stranger 
learn the earlier parts of the widow's story. There is, also, 
a fourth story, the real story of George Somers and his parents; 
if this story should be written in the order in which it occurred, 
it would differ in its detail and arrangement from every one 
of the stories narrated by Irving in this essay. D.] 

Pittie olde age, within whose silver haires 
Honour and reverence evermore have rain'd. 

— Marlowe's Tamburlaine. 

1. Those who are in the habit of remarking such matters, 
must have noticed the passive quiet of an English landscape 
on Sunday. ' The clacking of the mill, the regularly recurring 
stroke of the flail, the din of the blacksmith's hammer, the 
whistling of the ploughman, the rattling of the cart, and all 
other sounds of rural labor are suspended. The very farm- 
dogs bark less frequently, being less disturbed by passing 
travellers. At such times I have almost fancied the winds 

25 



26 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

sunk into quiet, and that the sunny landscape, with its fresh 
green tints melting into blue haze, enjoyed the hallowed calm. 

Sweet day, so pure, so calm, so bright, 
The bridal of the earth and sky. 

Well was it ordained that the day of devotion should be a day 
of rest. The holy repose which reigns over the face of nature 
has its moral influence ; every restless passion is charmed 
down, and we feel the natural religion of the soul gently 
springing up within us. For my part, there are feelings that 
visit me, in a country church, amid the beautiful serenity of 
nature, which I experience nowhere else; and if not a more 
religious, I think I am a better man on Sunday than on any 
other day of the seven. 

2. During my recent residence in the country, I used fre- 
quently to attend at the old village church. Its shadowy 
aisles ; its mouldering monuments ; its dark oaken panelling, 
all reverend with the gloom of departed years, seemed to fit 
it for the haunt of solemn meditation ; but being in a wealthy, 
aristocratic neighborhood, the glitter of fashion penetrated 
even into the sanctuary ; and I felt myself continually thrown 
back upon the world by the frigidity and pomp of the poor 
worms around me. The only being in the whole congregation 
who appeared thoroughly to feel the humble and prostrate 
piety of a true Christian was a poor decrepit old woman, 
bending under the weight of years and infirmities. She bore 
the traces of something better than abject poverty. The 
fingerings of decent pride were visible in her appearance. 
Her dress, though humble in the extreme, was scrupulously 
clean. Some trivial respect, too, had been awarded her, for 
she did not take her seat among the village poor, but sat alone 
on the steps of the altar. She seemed to have survived all 
love, all friendship, all society ; and to have nothing left her 
but the hopes of heaven. When I saw her feebly rising and 
bending her aged form in prayer; habitually conning her 
prayer-book, which her palsied hand and failing eyes would 
not permit her to read, but which she evidently knew by 
heart ; I felt persuaded that the faltering voice of that poor 



THE WIDOW AND HER SON 27 

woman arose to heaven far before the responses of the clerk, 
the swell of the organ, or the chanting of the choir. 

3. I am fond of loitering about country churches ; and this 
was so delightfully situated, that it frequently attracted me. 
It stood on a knoll, round which a small stream made a beauti- 
ful bend, and then wound its way through a long reach of soft 
meadow scenery. The church was surrounded by yew-trees 
which seemed almost coeval with itself. Its tall Gothic spire 
shot up lightly from among them, with rooks and crows gen- 
erally wheeling about it. I was seated there one still sunny 
morning, watching two laborers who were digging a grave. 
They had chosen one of the most remote and neglected corners 
of the churchyard ; where, from the number of nameless graves 
around, it would appear that the indigent and friendless were 
huddled into the earth. I was told that the new-made grave 
was for the only son of a poor widow. While I was meditating 
on the distinctions of worldly rank, which extend thus down 
into the very dust, the toll of the bell announced the approach 
of the funeral. They were the obsequies of poverty, with 
which pride had nothing to do. A coffin of the plainest ma- 
terials, without pall or other covering, was borne by some of 
the villagers. The sexton walked before with an air of cold 
indifference. There were no mock mourners in the trappings 
of affected woe ; but there was one real mourner who feebly 
tottered after the corpse. It was the aged mother of the 
deceased, the poor old woman whom I had seen seated on the 
steps of the altar. She was supported by an humble friend, 
who was endeavoring to comfort her. A few of the neigh- 
boring poor had joined the train, and some children of the 
village were running hand in hand, now shouting with un- 
thinking mirth, and now pausing to gaze, with childish curi- 
osity, on the grief of the mourner. 

4. As the funeral train approached the grave, the parson 
issued forth from the church-porch, arrayed in the surplice, 
with prayer-book in hand, and attended by the clerk. The 
service, however, was a mere act of charity. The deceased 
had been destitute, and the survivor was penniless. It was 
shuffled through, therefore, in form, but coldly and unfeel- 



28 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

ingly. The well-fed priest moved but a few steps from the 
church-door ; his voice could scarcely be heard at the grave ; 
and never did I hear the funeral service, that sublime and 
touching ceremony, turned into such a frigid mummery of 
words. 

5. I approached the grave. The coffin was placed on the 
ground. On it were inscribed the name and age of the de- 
ceased — " George Somers, aged 26 years." The poor mother 
had been assisted to kneel down at the head of it. Her 
withered hands were clasped, as if in prayer, but I could per- 
ceive by a feeble rocking of the body, and a convulsive motion 
of her lips, that she was gazing on the last relics of her son with 
the yearnings of a mother's heart. 

6. Preparations were made to deposit the coffin in the 
earth. There was that bustling stir which breaks so harshly 
on the feelings of grief and affection ; directions given in the 
cold tones of business ; the striking of spades into sand and 
gravel ; which at the grave of those we love, is, of all sounds, 
the most withering. The bustle around seemed to waken the 
mother from a wretched reverie. She raised her glazed eyes, 
and looked about with a faint wildness. As the men ap- 
proached with cords to lower the coffin into the grave, she 
wrung her hands, and broke into an agony of grief. The poor 
woman who attended her took her by the arm, endeavoring 
to raise her from the earth, and to whisper something like 
consolation — "Nay, noW — nay, now — don't take it so 
sorely to heart." She could only shake her head and wring 
her hands, as one not to be comforted. 

7. As they lowered the body into the earth, the creaking 
of the cords seemed to agonize her; but when, on some ac- 
cidental obstruction, there was a jostling of the coffin, all the 
tenderness of the mother burst forth ; as if any harm could 
come to him who was far beyond the reach of worldly suffering. 

8. I could see no more — my heart swelled into my throat 
— my eyes filled with tears — I felt as if I were acting a bar- 
barous part in standing by, and gazing idly on this scene of 
maternal anguish. I wandered to another part of the church- 
yard, where I remained until the funeral train had dispersed. 



THE WIDOW AND HER SON 29 

9. When I saw the mother slowly and painfully quitting 
the grave, leaving behind her the remains of all that was dear 
to her on earth, and returning to silence and destitution, my 
heart ached for her. What, thought I, are the distresses of 
the rich ! They have friends to soothe — pleasures to beguile 

— a world to divert and dissipate their griefs. What are the 
sorrows of the young ! Their growing minds soon close above 
the wound — their elastic spirits soon rise beneath the pres- 
sure — their green and ductile affections soon twine round 
new objects. But the sorrows of the poor, who have no out- 
ward appliances to soothe, — the sorrows of the aged, with 
whom life at best is but a wintry day, and who can look 
for no after-growth of joy, — the sorrows of a widow, aged, 
solitary, destitute, mourning over an only son, the last solace 
of her years : these are indeed sorrows which make us feel 
the impotency of consolation. 

10. It was some time before I left the churchyard. On my 
way homeward I met with the woman who had acted as com- 
forter : she was just returning from accompanying the mother 
to her lonely habitation, and I drew from her some particulars 
connected with the affecting scene I had witnessed. 

11. The parents of the deceased had resided in the village 
from childhood. They had inhabited one of the neatest cot- 
tages, and by various rural occupations, and the assistance 
of a small garden, had supported themselves creditably and 
comfortably, and led a happy and a blameless life. They had 
one son, who had grown up to be the staff and pride of their 
age. — "Oh, sir!" said the good woman, "he was such a 
comely lad, so sweet-tempered, so kind to every one around 
him, so dutiful' to his parents ! It did one's heart good 
to see him of a Sunday, dressed out in his best, so tall, 
so straight, so cheery, supporting his old mother to church, 

— for she was always fonder of leaning on George's arm 
than on her good man's; and, poor soul, she might well be 
proud of him, for a finer lad there was not in the country 
round." 

12. Unfortunately, the son was tempted, during a year 
of scarcity and agricultural hardship, to enter into the service 



30 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

of one of the small craft that plied on a neighboring river. He 
had not been long in this employ when he was entrapped by a 
press-gang, and carried off to sea. His parents received tidings 
of his seizure, but beyond that they could learn nothing. It 
was the loss of their main prop. The father, who was already 
infirm, grew heartless and melancholy, and sunk into his 
grave. The widow, left lonely in her age and feebleness, 
could no longer support herself, and came upon the parish. 
Still there was a kind feeling toward her throughout the vil- 
lage, and a certain respect as being one of the oldest inhabit- 
ants. As no one applied for the cottage, in which she had 
passed so many happy days, she was permitted to remain in it, 
where she lived solitary and almost helpless. The few wants 
of nature were chiefly supplied from the scanty productions 
of her little garden, which the neighbors would now and then 
cultivate for her. It was but a few days before the time at 
which these circumstances were told me, that she was gather- 
ing some vegetables for her repast, when she heard the cottage- 
door which faced the garden suddenly opened. A stranger 
came out, and seemed to be looking eagerly and wildly around. 
He was dressed in seaman's clothes, was emaciated and 
ghastly pale, and bore the air of one broken by sickness and 
hardships. He saw her, and hastened towards her, but his 
steps were faint and faltering ; he sank on his knees before her, 
and sobbed like a child. The poor woman gazed upon him 
with a vacant and wandering eye, — "Oh, my dear, dear 
mother ! don't you know your son ? your poor boy, George ? " 
It was indeed the wreck of her once noble lad, who, shattered 
by wounds, by sickness and foreign imprisonment, had, at 
length, dragged his wasted limbs homeward, to repose among 
the scenes of his childhood. 

13. I will not attempt to detail the particulars of such 
a meeting, where joy and sorrow were so completely blended : 
still he was alive ! he was come home ! he might yet live to 
comfort and cherish her old age ! Nature, however, was 
exhausted in him ; and if anything had been wanting to finish 
the work of fate, the desolation of his native cottage would 
have been sufficient. He stretched himself on the pallet on 



THE WIDOW AND HER SON 31 

which his widowed mother had passed many a sleepless night, 
and he never rose from it again. 

14. The villagers, when they heard that George Somers 
had returned, crowded to see him, offering every comfort 
and assistance that their humble means afforded. He was 
too weak, however, to talk — he could only look his thanks. 
His mother was his constant attendant ; and he seemed un- 
willing to be helped by any other hand. 

15. There is something in sickness that breaks down the 
pride of manhood ; that softens the heart, and brings it back 
to the feelings of infancy. Who that has languished, even 
in advanced life, in sickness and despondency; who that 
has pined on a weary bed in the neglect and loneliness of a 
foreign land, but has thought on the mother "that looked 
on his childhood," that smoothed his pillow, and adminis- 
tered to his helplessness ? Oh ! there is an enduring tender- 
ness in the love of a mother to her son that transcends all 
other affections of the heart. It is neither to be chilled by 
selfishness, nor daunted by danger, nor weakened by worth- 
lessness, nor stifled by ingratitude. She will sacrifice every 
comfort to his convenience ; she will surrender every pleasure 
to his enjoyment; she will glory in his fame, and exult in his 
prosperity ; — and, if misfortune overtake him, he will be the 
dearer to her from misfortune; and if disgrace settle upon 
his name, she will still love and cherish him in spite of his 
disgrace; and if all the world beside cast him off, she will 
be all the world to him. 

16. Poor George Somers had known what it was to be in 
sickness, and none to soothe, — lonely and in prison, and none 
to visit him. He could not endure his mother from his sight ; 
if she moved away, his eye would follow her. She would sit 
for hours by his bed, watching him as he slept. Sometimes 
he would start from a feverish dream, and look anxiously up 
until he saw her bending over him ; when he would take her 
hand, lay it on his bosom, and fall asleep, with the tranquil- 
lity of a child. In this way he died. 

17. My first impulse on hearing this humble tale of afflic- 
tion was to visit the cottage of the mourner, and administer 



32 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

pecuniary assistance, and, if possible, comfort. I found, how- 
ever, on inquiry, that the good feeUngs of the villagers had 
prompted them to do everything that the case admitted; 
and as the poor know best how to console each other's sorrows, 
I did not venture to intrude. 

18. The next Sunday I was at the village church, when, 
to my surprise, I saw the poor old woman tottering down 
the aisle to her accustomed seat on the steps of the altar. 

19. She had made an effort to put on something like mourn- 
ing for her son ; and nothing could be more touching than this 
struggle between pious affection and utter poverty: a black 
ribbon or so, a faded black handkerchief, and one or two more 
such humble attempts to express by outward signs that grief 
which passes show. When I looked round upon the storied 
monuments, the stately hatchments, the cold marble pomp, 
with which grandeur mourned magnificently over departed 
pride, and turned to this poor widow, bowed down by age and 
sorrow, at the altar of her God, and offering up the prayers and 
praises of a pious, though a broken heart, I felt that this living 
monument of real grief was worth them all. 

20. I related her story to some of the wealthy members 
of the congregation, and they were moved by it. They ex- 
erted themselves to render her situation more comfortable, 
and to lighten her afflictions. It was, however, but smoothing 
a few steps to the grave. In the course of a Sunday or two 
after, she was missed from her usual seat at church, and be- 
fore I left the neighborhood, I heard, with a feeling of satis- 
faction, that she had quietly breathed her last, and had gone 
to rejoin those she loved, in that world where sorrow is never 
known and friends are never parted. 



IRVING'S OLD CHRISTMAS 



PRELIMINARY COMMENT 

Irving's Christmas essays represent, primarily, his re- 
searches in old books, but the knowledge thus gained he 
enkindled with his own peculiar gift of imagination. He 
was fond of re-creating scenes belonging to periods of time 
long since forgotten. In his travels, he sought out 
places already familiar in thought; wandering alone, and 
musing at will, he presently found himself surrounded 
by shadowy personages evoked from the past. Often 
this imaginary world became so real to him that the very 
incidents set down in the pages of old books seemed to re- 
enact themselves in the surroundings wherein they first took 
place. Actors long since forgotten kept him company ; great 
events or old-time revelries repeated themselves with vivid 
reality, and afterwards, in memory, he could scarcely dis- 
tinguish imaginary scenes and characters from those once 
visible to the eyes. 

Often no more is set down than we may read for ourselves 
in antiquarian books, but we derive a new pleasure from the 
pages, due chiefly to the charm of the author's personality. 
With him, we wander for an hour in strange lands, we share his 
curiosity, and perceive contrasts unnoticed before; while the 
quickened love of home that travellers feel stirs within us. 
More than this, Irving lends to us, for the nonce, his own tem- 
perament, his own retrospective imagination. For us, also, 
England becomes the home land from which our race came. 
The speech of the English is our own; their homes are the 
very ones from which the most intimate and sacred cus- 
toms of our own households have been derived. Keenly 
alive to every older phase of familiar manners, we return 
with our author as children to the roof-tree under which our 
fathers and mothers were bred. 

In reality, the feeling that moves us is not the curiosity of 
the traveller; a deeper emotion stirs in our hearts as we 
recognize with wonder and affection the sources of our own 
personal life and being. A holiday custom carelessly main- 
tained on the banks of the Hudson assumes a wholly new 
significance to the wanderer from that distant place when he 
sees the same observance immemorially handed down in 
the land from which his fathers came. This is the service 

33 



34 THE SKETCH-BOOK 



that Irving renders the reader; he places him in the true, 
the only, point of view for vital interest in the past. He 
makes him feel that the past is, in one way or another, the 
inheritance of each one of us; in returning to it, we are re- 
creating scenes, realizing motives and customs, which deter- 
mined, in great degree, the complexion of the lives we ourselves 
lead, since they were bred in the blood and bone of our own 
ancestry. 

In form, the Christmas papers, beginning with "The Stage 
Coach," are narrative essays. If Irving had interested us 
more deeply in the characters, and introduced a few exciting 
incidents, he would have written a story instead of an essay, 
but he cared most to observe and understand the manners 
and customs of the English people, and it was his wish to 
excite a like sympathetic interest in his readers. He used 
a slight thread of narrative because it furnished an easy means 
of passing from one scene to the next. In this way, also, he 
was able to give reality to the revelry of Christmas time, and 
make the pageant enacted in his own mind appear in actual 
form. The reader must not consider that the Squire, or 
Frank, or Master Simon, are real persons, but neither must he 
conclude that they are no more than lay figures devised to 
carry the narrative. Each one is intended to represent the 
qualities of some member of a typical family, and the picture 
in Irving's mind was drawn from personal acquaintance with 
many individuals of the class he wished to represent. For 
the reader, the narrative element mingling in these essays 
heightens greatly the interest ; the author makes of himself a 
character and leads us thus to share experiences which, with- 
out his genial companionship, might not have appealed to our 
own slower imagination. 

In a letter to his brother, soon after the publication of the 
Christmas papers, Irving defines his purpose in writing them. 
He says : — 

The article you object to, about Christmas, is written for peculiar 
tastes — those who are fond of what is quaint in literature and cus- 
toms. The scenes there depicted are formed upon humors and cus- 
toms peculiar to the Enghsh and illustrative of their greatest holiday. 
The old rhymes which are interspersed are but selections from many 
which I found among old works in the British Musevun, Uttle read 
even by Englishmen, and which will have value with some literary 
men who relish these morsels of antiquated humor. When an article 
is studied out in this manner, it cannot have that free flowing spirit 
and humor that one written off-hand has ; but then it compensates 
to some peculiar minds by the points of character or manners which 
it illustrates. — Life and Letters I, p. 345. 

After the publication of "The Sketch-Book," Lady 
Lyttleton wrote to Honorable Richard Rush, then American 



IRVING'S old CHRISTMAS 35 

Minister at the Court of St. James, inquiring about the author- 
ship of that book, since it was attributed by some to Sir Walter 
Scott. In the correspondence that ensued, Irving mentioned 
the fact that the observations which formed the basis of " Rural 
Life in England" were made in the neighborhood of Hagley, 
Lord Lyttleton's country-seat. In the end, he received an in- 
vitation, which he was unable to accept, to pass the holidays at 
Hagley where the old-fashioned festivities of the Christmas time 
were observed as described in " The Sketch-Book." There had 
been some. criticism of the Christmas essays on the supposition 
that they were purely imaginary ; Irving, therefore, was espe- 
cially pleased whenever he found the old-time observances main- 
tained and cherished. In a letter dated Newstead Abbey, Janu- 
ary 20, 1832, hegives an account of a tour undertaken to give Mr. 
Van Buren and his son, recently arrived in England, an idea of 
English country life and of the festivities of an old-fashioned 
Christmas. These were found in full course at Barlborough 
Hall, where the party arrived on Christmas Eve and remained 
for a fortnight. 

The following passage is taken from the chapter called 
"Plough Monday," in "Newstead Abbey ": — 

But it is not in "Merry Sherwood Forest " alone that these remnants 
of old times prevail. They are to be met with in most of the counties 
north of the Trent, which classic stream seems to be the boundary line of 
primitive customs. During my recent Christmas sojourn at Barlboro' 
Hall, on the skirts of Derbyshire and Yorkshire, I had witnessed 
many of the rustic festivities peculiar to that joyous season, which 
have rashly been pronounced obsolete by those who draw their ex- 
perience merely from city life. I had seen the great Yule clog put on 
the fire on Christmas Eve, and the wassail bowl sent round, brimming 
with its spicy beverage. I had heard carols beneath my window 
by the choristers of the neighboring village, who went their rounds 
about the ancient Hall at midnight, according to immemorial custom. 
We had mxmimers and mimers too, with the story of St. George and 
the Dragon, and other ballads and traditional dialogues, together 
with the famous old interlude of the Hobby Horse, all represented in 
the antechamber and servants' hall by rustics, who inherited the 
custom and the poetry from preceding generations. 

The boar's head, crowned with rosemary, had taken its honored 
station among the Christmas cheer ; the festal board had been at- 
tended by glee singers and minstrels from the village to entertain the 
company with hereditary songs and catches during their repast ; and 
the old Pyrrhic game of the sword-dance, handed down since the 
time of the Romans, was admirably performed in the court-yard of the 
mansion by a band of young men, lithe and supple in their forms and 
graceful in their movements, who, I was told, went the rounds of the 
villages and country-seats during the Christmas holidays. 

I specify these rural pageants and ceremonials, which I saw during 
my sojourn in this neighborhood, because it has been deemed that 
some of the anecdotes of holiday customs given in my preceding 



36 



THE SKETCH-BOOK 



writings related to usages which have entirely passed away. Critics 
who reside in cities have little idea of the primitive manners and ob- 
servances which still prevail in remote and rural neighborhoods. 

In fact, in crossing the Trent one seems to step back into old 
times ; and in the villages of Sherwood Forest we are in a black-letter 
region. The moss-green cottages, the lowly mansions of gray stone, 
the Gothic crosses at each end of the villages, and the tall May-pole 
in the centre, transport us in imagination to foregone centuries, 
everything has a quaint and antiquated air. D.] 




Barlborough Hall 



CHRISTMAS 

[Comment. — The first of the Christmas papers is merely 
an introductory essay and follows the usual model. A general 
statement sets forth indirectly Irving's own special interest 
in the subject, then statements less general narrow the broad 
subject of "holiday customs and rural games " to the special 
festivities and customs of Christmas time, to commemorate 
which the following essays were written. The last paragraph 
defines the point of view and the interest of the author him- 
self. D.] 

But is old, old, good old Christmas gone ? Nothing but the hair of 
his good, gray, old head and beard left ? Well, I will have that, see- 
ing I cannot have more of him. — Hue and Cry after Christmas. 

A man might then behold 

At Christmas, in each hall 
Good fires to curb the cold, 

And meat for great and small. 
The neighbors were friendly bidden. 

And all had welcome true ; 
The poor from the gates were not chidden 

When this old cap was new. — Old Song. 

1. Nothing in England exercises a more delightful spell 
over my imagination than the lingerings of the holiday cus- 
toms and rural games of former times. They recall the pic- 
tures my fancy used to draw in the May morning of life, when 
as yet I only knew the world through books, and believed 
it to be all that poets had painted it ; and they bring with 
them the flavor of those honest days of yore, in which, per- 
haps, with equal fallacy, I am apt to think the world was more 
homebred, social, and joyous than at present. I regret to say 
that they are daily growing more and more faint, being grad- 
ually worn away by time, but still more obliterated by modern 
fashion. They resemble those picturesque morsels of Gothic 
architecture, which we see crumbling in various parts of the 
country, partly dilapidated by the waste of ages, and partly 
lost in the additions and alterations of later days. Poetry, 
however, clings with cherishing fondness about the rural 
game and holiday revel, from which it has derived so many 
of its themes — as the ivy winds its rich foliage about the 

37 



38 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

Gothic arch and mouldering tower, gratefully repaying their 
support by clasping together their tottering remains, and, 
as it were, embalming them in verdure. 

2. Of all the old festivals, however, that of Christmas 
awakens the strongest and most heartfelt associations. 
There is a tone of solemn and sacred feeling that blends with 
our conviviality, and lifts the spirit to a state of hallowed and 
elevated enjoyment. The services of the church about this 
season are extremely tender and inspiring. They dwell on 
the beautiful story of the origin of our faith, and the pastoral 
scenes that accompanied its announcement. They gradually 
increase in fervor and pathos during the season of Advent, 
until they break forth in full jubilee on the morning that 
brought peace and good-will to men. I do not know a grander 
effect of music on the moral feelings than to hear the full choir 
and the pealing organ performing a Christmas anthem in a 
cathedral, and filling every part of the vast pile with trium- 
phant harmony. 

3. It is a beautiful arrangement, also, derived from days 
of yore, that this festival, which commemorates the announce- 
ment of the religion of peace and love, has been made the 
season for gathering together of family connections, and draw- 
ing closer again those bands of kindred hearts, which the cares 
and pleasures and sorrows of the world are continually oper- 
ating to cast loose ; of calling back the children of a family, 
who have launched forth in life, and wandered widely asun- 
der, once more to assemble about the paternal hearth, that 
rallying-place of the affections, there to grow young and loving 
again among the endearing mementos of childhood. 

4. There is something in the very season of the year that 
gives a charm to the festivity of Christmas. At other times 
we derive a great portion of our pleasures from the mere beau- 
ties of nature. Our feelings sally forth and dissipate them- 
selves over the sunny landscape, and we "live abroad and 
everywhere." The song of the bird, the murmur of the stream, 
the breathing fragrance of spring, the soft voluptuousness 
of summer, the golden pomp of autumn; earth with its 
mantle of refreshing green, and heaven with its deep deli- 



CHRISTMAS 39 

cious blue and its cloudy magnificence, all fill us with mute 
but exquisite delight, and we revel in the luxury of mere sen- 
sation. But in the depth of winter, when nature lies de- 
spoiled of every charm, and wrapped in her shroud of sheeted 
snow, we turn for our gratifications to moral sources. The 
dreariness and desolation of the landscape, the short gloomy 
days and darksome nights, while they circumscribe our wan- 
derings, shut in our feelings also from rambling abroad, and 
make us more keenly disposed for the pleasure of the social 
circle. Our thoughts are more concentrated; our friendly 
sympathies more aroused. We feel more sensibly the charm 
of each other's society, and are brought more closely together 
by dependence on each other for enjoyment. Heart calleth 
unto heart ; and we draw our pleasures from the deep wells of 
loving-kindness, which lie in the quiet recesses of our bosoms ; 
and which, when resorted to, furnish forth the pure element 
of domestic felicity. 

5. The pitchy gloom without makes the heart dilate on 
entering the room filled with the glow and warmth of the 
evening fire. The ruddy blaze diffuses an artificial summer and 
sunshine through the room, and lights up each countenance in a 
kindlier welcome. Where does the honest face of hospitality 
expand into a broader and more cordial smile — where is 
the shy glance of love more sweetly eloquent — than by the 
winter fireside? and as the hollow blast of wintry wind 
rushes through the hall, claps the distant door, whistles about 
the casement, and rumbles down the chimney, what can be 
more grateful than that feeling of sober and sheltered security, 
with which we look round upon the comfortable chamber and 
the scene of domestic hilarity? 

6. The English, from the great prevalence of rural habit 
throughout every class of society have always been fond of 
those festivals and holidays which agreeably interrupt the 
stillness of country life ; and they were, in former days, par- 
ticularly observant of the religious and social rights of Christ- 
mas. It is inspiring to read even the dry details which some 
antiquaries have given of the quaint humors, the burlesque 
pageants, the complete abandonment to mirth and good-fel- 



40 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

lowship, with which this festival was celebrated. It seemed 
to throw open every door, and unlock every heart. It 
brought the peasant and the peer together, and blended all 
ranks in one warm generous flow of joy and kindness. The 
old halls of castles and manor-houses resounded w^ith the 
harp and the Christmas carol, and their ample boards groaned 
i.mder the weight of hospitality. Even the poorest cottage 
welcomed the festive season with green decorations of bay and 
holly, — the cheerful fire glanced its rays through the lattice, 
inviting the passengers to raise the latch, and join the gossip 
knot huddled round the hearth, beguiling the long evening 
with legendary jokes and oft-told Christmas tales. 

7. One of the least pleasing effects of modern refinement 
is the havoc it has made among the hearty old holiday cus- 
toms. It has completely taken off the sharp touchings and 
spirited reliefs of these embellishments of life, and has worn 
down society into a more smooth and polished, but certainly 
a less characteristic surface. Many of the games and cere- 
monials of Christmas have entirely disappeared, and, like 
the sherris sack of old Falstaff, are become matters of specu- 
lation and dispute among commentators. They flourished 
in times full of spirit and lustihood, when men enjoyed life 
roughly, but heartily and vigorously ; times wild and pictu- 
resque, which have furnished poetry with its richest materials, 
and the drama with its most attractive variety of characters 
and manners. The world has become more worldly. There 
is more of dissipation, and less of enjoyment. Pleasure has 
expanded into a broader, but a shallower stream, and has 
forsaken many of those deep and quiet channels where it 
flowed sweetly through the calm bosom of domestic life. 
Society has acquired a more enlightened and elegant tone; 
but it has lost many of its strong local peculiarities, its home- 
bred feelings, its honest fireside delights. The traditionary 
customs of golden-hearted antiquity, its feudal hospitalities, 
and lordly wassailings, have passed away with the baronial 
castles and stately manor-houses in which they were cele- 
brated. They comported with the shadowy hall, the great 
oaken gallery, and the tapestried parlor, but are unfitted to 



CHRISTMAS 41 

the light showy saloons and gay drawing-rooms of the modern 
villa. 

8. Shorn, however, as it is, of its ancient and festive honors, 
Christmas is still a period of delightful excitement in England. 
It is gratifying to see that home-feeling completely aroused 
which holds so powerful a place in every English bosom. The 
preparations making on every side for the social board that 
is again to unite friends and kindred; the presents of good 
cheer passing and repassing, those tokens of regard, and 
quickeners of kind feelings ; the evergreens distributed about 
houses, and churches, emblems of peace and gladness; all 
these have the most pleasing effect in producing fond associa- 
tions, and kindling benevolent sympathies. Even the sound 
of the Waits, rude as may be their minstrelsy, breaks upon 
the mid-watches of a winter night with the effect of perfect 
harmony. As I have been awakened by them in that still 
and solemn hour, "when deep sleep falleth upon man," I 
have listened with a hushed delight, and, connecting them 
with the sacred and joyous occasion, have almost fancied 
them into another celestial choir, announcing peace and good- 
will to mankind. 

9. How delightfully the imagination, when wrought upon 
by these moral influences, turns everything to melody and 
beauty ! The very crowing of the cock, heard sometimes in 
the profound repose of the country, "telling the night- 
watches to his feathery dames,'' was thought by the common 
people to announce the approach of this sacred festival. 

" Some say that ever 'gainst that season conies 
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, 
This bird of dawning singeth all night long ; 
And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad ; 
The nights are wholesome — then no planets strike, 
No fairy takes, no witch hath power to charm 
So hallow'd and so gracious is the time." 

Amidst the general call to happiness, the bustle of the spirits, 
and stir of the affections, which prevail at this period, what 
bosom can remain insensible ? It is, indeed, the season of 
regenerated feeling — the season for kindling, not merely 



42 



THE SKETCH-BOOK 



the fire of hospitality in the hall, but the genial flame of 
charity in the heart. 

10. The scene of early love again rises green to memory 
beyond the sterile waste of years; and the idea of home, 
fraught with the fragrance of home-dwelling joys, reanimates 
the drooping spirit as the Arabian breeze will sometimes waft 
the freshness of the distant fields to the weary pilgrim of the 
desert. 

11. Stranger and sojourner as I am in the land — though 
for me no social hearth may blaze, no hospitable roof throw 
open its doors, nor the warm grasp of friendship welcome me 
at the threshold — yet I feel the influence of the season beam- 
ing into my soul from the happy looks of those around me. 
Surely, happiness is reflective, like the light of heaven ; and 
every countenance, bright with smiles, and glowing with in- 
nocent enjoyment, is a mirror transmitting to others the rays 
of a supreme and ever-shining benevolence. He who can 
turn churlishly away from contemplating the felicity of his 
fellow-beings, and can sit down darkling and repining in his 
loneliness when all around is joyful, may have his moments 
of strong excitement and selfish gratification, but he wants the 
genial and social sympathies which constitute the charm of a 
merry Christmas. 




A Stage-coach of 1825 



THE STAGE-COACH 

[Comment. — There is in " The Stage-Co ach " an essay form, 
or outhne, which is the narrative of the personal experiences 
of a traveller. There is woven into this narrative a bit of 
story in which several characters appear. This story may be 
outlined, or told, as a separate story, but the part of it which 
Irving witnessed that day in the coach fits into his narrative 
and was a chief source of his own interest and pleasure. D.] 

Omne ben6 

Sine poena 
Tempus est ludendi. 

Venit hora 

Absque mor^ 
Libros deponendi. 

— Old Holiday School Song. 

1. In the preceding paper I have made some general ob- 
servations on the Christmas festivities of England, and am 
tempted to illustrate them by some anecdotes of a Christmas 
passed in the country ; in perusing which I would most cour- 
teously invite my reader to lay aside the austerity of wisdom, 
and to put on that genuine holiday spirit which is tolerant 
of folly, and anxious only for amusement. . 

2. In the course of a December tour in Yorkshire, I rode 
for a long distance in one of the public coaches, on the day 
preceding Christmas. The coach was crowded, both inside 
and out, with passengers, who, by their talk, seemed princi- 
pally bound to the mansions of relations or friends, to eat the 
Christmas dinner. It was loaded also with hampers of game, 
and baskets and boxes of delicacies ; and hares hung dangling 
their long ears about the coachman's box, presents from dis- 
tant friends for the impending feast. I had three fine 
rosy-cheeked boys for my fellow-passengers inside, full of the 
buxom health and manly spirit which I have observed in 
the children of this country. They were returning home for the 
holidays in high glee, and promising themselves a world of 
enjoyment. It was delightful to hear the gigantic plans of the 
little rogues, and the impracticable feats they were to perform 

43 



44 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

during their six weeks' emancipation from the abhorred 
thraldom of book, birch, and pedagogue. They were full of 
anticipations of the meeting with the family and household, 
down to the very cat and dog; and of the joy they were to 
give their little sisters by the presents with which their pockets 
were crammed ; but the meeting to which they seemed to look 
forward with the greatest impatience was with Bantam, 
which I found to be a pony, and, according to their talk, 
possessed of more virtues than any steed since the days of 
Bucephalus. How he could trot ! how he could run ! and 
then such leaps as he would take — there was not a hedge 
in the whole country that he could not clear. 

3. They were under the particular guardianship of the 
coachman, to whom, whenever an opportunity presented, 
they addressed a host of questions, and pronounced him one 
of the best fellows in the world. Indeed, I could not but 
notice the more than ordinary air of bustle and importance 
of the coachman, who wore his hat a little on one side, and 
had a large bunch of Christmas greens stuck in the button- 
hole of his coat. He is always a personage full of mighty care 
and business, but he is particularly so during this season, 
having so many commissions to execute in consequence of the 
great interchange of presents. And here, perhaps, it may 
not be unacceptable to my untravelled readers, to have a 
sketch that may serve as a general representation of this very 
numerous and important class of functionaries, who have a 
dress, a manner, a language, an air, peculiar to themselves, 
and prevalent throughout the fraternity ; so that, wherever an 
English stage-coachman may be seen, he cannot be mistaken 
for one of any other craft or mystery. 

4. He has commonly a broad, full face, curiously mottled 
with red, as if the blood had been forced by hard feeding into 
every vessel of the skin ; he is swelled into jolly dimensions by 
frequent potations of malt liquors, and his bulk is still further 
increased by a multiplicity of coats, in which he is buried like 
a cauliflower, the upper one reaching to his heels. He wears 
a broad-brimmed, low-crowned hat; a huge roll of colored 
handkerchief about his neck, knowingly knotted and tucked 



THE STAGE-COACH 45 

in at the bosom ; and has in summer-time a large bouquet of 
flowers in his button-hole; the present, most probably, of 
some enamoured country lass. His waistcoat is commonly 
of some bright color, striped, and his small-clothes extend far 
below the knees, to meet a pair of jockey-boots which reach 
about half way up his legs. 

5. All this costume is maintained with much precision ; he 
has a pride in having his clothes of excellent materials ; and, 
notwithstanding the seeming grossness of his appearance, 
there is still discernible that neatness and propriety of person 
which is almost inherent in an Englishman. He enjoys great 
consequence and consideration along the road ; has frequent 
conferences with the village housewives, who look upon him 
as a man of great trust and dependence; and he seems to 
have a good understanding with every bright-eyed country 
lass. The moment he arrives where the horses are to be 
changed, he throws down the reins with something of an air, 
and abandons the cattle to the care of the hostler ; his duty 
being merely to drive from one stage to another. When off 
the box, his hands are thrust into the pockets of his great-coat, 
and he rolls about the inn-yard with an air of the most abso- 
lute lordliness. Here he is generally surrounded by an admir- 
ing throng of hostlers, stable-boys, shoeblacks, and those name- 
less hangers-on, that infest inns and taverns, and run errands, 
and do all kind of odd jobs, for the privilege of battening on 
the drippings of the kitchen and the leakage of the tap-room. 
These all look up to him as to an oracle ; treasure up his cant 
phrases; echo his opinions about horses and other topics of 
jockey lore; and, above all, endeavor to imitate his air and 
carriage. Every ragamuffin that has a coat to his back, 
thrusts his hands in the pockets, rolls in his gait, talks slang, 
and is an embryo Coachey. 

6. Perhaps it might be owing to the pleasing serenity that 
reigned in my own mind, that I fancied I saw cheerfulness in 
every countenance throughout the journey. A stage-coach, 
however, carries animation always with it, and puts the world 
in motion as it whirls along. The horn, sounded at the en- 
trance of a village, produces a general bustle. Some hasten 



46 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

forth to meet friends; some with bundles and bandboxes to 
secure places, and in the hurry of the moment can hardly take 
leave of the group that accompanies them. In the mean 
time, the coachman has a world of small commissions to exe- 
cute. Sometimes he delivers a hare or pheasant; sometimes 
jerks a small parcel or newspaper to the door of a public house ; 
and sometimes, with knowing leer and words of sly import, 
hands to some half -blushing, half -laughing housemaid an odd- 
shaped billet-doux from some rustic admirer. As the coach 
rattles through the village, every one runs to the window, 
and you have glances on every side of fresh country faces 
and blooming giggling girls. At the corners are assembled 
juntos of village idlers and wise men, who take their stations 
there for the important purpose of seeing company pass ; but 
the sagest knot is generally at the blacksmith's, to whom 
the passing of the coach is an event fruitful of much specu- 
lation. The smith, with the horse's heel in his lap, pauses 
as the vehicle whirls by ; the cyclops round the anvil suspend 
their ringing hammers, and suffer the iron to grow cool ; and 
the sooty spectre, in brown paper cap, laboring at the bellows, 
leans on the handle for a moment, and permits the asthmatic 
engine to heave a long-drawn sigh, while he glares through 
the murky smoke and sulphureous gleams of the smithy. 

7. Perhaps the impending holiday might have given a more 
than usual animation to the country, for it seemed to me as 
if everybody was in good looks and good spirits. Game, 
poultry, and other luxuries of the table, were in brisk circu- 
lation in the villages ; the grocers', butchers', and fruiterers' 
shops were thronged with customers. The housewives were 
stirring briskly about, putting their dwellings in order; and 
the glossy branches of holly, with their bright-red berries, 
began to appear at the windows. The scene brought to mind 
an old writer's account of Christmas preparations: "Now 
capons and hens, beside turkey, geese, and ducks, with beef 
and mutton — must all die — for in twelve days a multitude 
of people will not be fed with a little. Now plums and spice, 
sugar and honey, square it among pies and broth. Now or 
never must music be in tune, for the youth must dance and 



THE STAGE-COACH 47 

sing to get them a heat, while the aged sit by the fire. The 
country maid leaves half her market, and must be sent again, 
if she forgets a pack of cards on Christmas eve. Great is the 
contention of holly and ivy, whether master or dame wears 
the breeches. Dice and cards benefit the butler; and if the 
cook do not lack wit, he will sweetly lick his fingers." 

8. I was roused from this fit of luxurious meditation by a 
shout from my little travelling companions. They had been 
looking out of the coach- windows for the last few miles, rec- 
ognizing every tree and cottage as they approached home, 
and now there was a general burst of joy. "There's John! 
and there's old Carlo ! and there's Bantam ! " cried the happy 
little rogues, clapping their hands. 

9. At the end of a lane there was an old sober-looking ser- 
vant in livery, waiting for them ; he was accompanied by a 
superannuated pointer, and by the redoubtable Bantam, a 
little old rat of a pony, with a shaggy mane and long rusty tail, 
who stood dozing quietly by the roadside, little dreaming of 
the bustling times that awaited him. 

10. I was pleased to see the fondness with which the little 
fellows leaped about the steady old footman, and hugged the 
pointer: who wriggled his whole body for joy. But Bantam 
was the great object of interest ; all wanted to mount at once, 
and it was with some difficulty that John arranged that they 
should ride by turns, and the eldest should ride first. 

11. Off they set at last; one on the pony, with the dog 
bounding and barking before him, and the others holding 
John's hands; both talking at once, and overpowering him 
with questions about home, and with school anecdotes. I 
looked after them with a feeling in which I do not know 
whether pleasure or melancholy predominated; for I was 
reminded of those days when, like them, I had neither known 
care nor sorrow, and a holiday was the summit of earthly 
felicity. We stopped a few moments afterwards to water the 
horses, and on resuming our route, a turn of the road brought 
us in sight of a neat country-seat. I could just distinguish 
the forms of a lady and two young girls in the portico, and I 
saw my little comrades, with Bantam, Carlo, and old John, 



48 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

trooping along the carriage-road. I leaned out of the coach- 
window, in hopes of witnessing the happy meeting, but a 
grove of trees shut it from my sight. 

12. In the evening we reached a village where I had deter- 
mined to pass the night. As we drove into the great gateway 
of the inn, I saw on one side the light of a rousing kitchen-fire 
beaming through a window. I entered, and admired, for 
the hundredth time, that picture of convenience, neatness, 
and broad honest enjoyment, the kitchen of an English inn. 
It was of spacious dimensions, hung round with copper and tin 
vessels highly polished, and decorated here and there with a 
Christmas green. Hams, tongues, and flitches of bacon, were 
suspended from the ceiling; a smoke-jack made its ceaseless 
clanking beside the fireplace, and a clock ticked in one corner. 
A well-scoured deal table extended along one side of the 
kitchen, with a cold round of beef, and other hearty viands 
upon it, over which two foaming tankards of ale seemed 
mounting guard. Travellers of inferior order were preparing 
to attack this stout repast, while others sat smoking and gos- 
siping over their ale on two high-backed oaken settles beside 
the fire. Trim housemaids were hurrying backwards and 
forwards under th^ directions of a fresh, bustling landlady; 
but still seizing an occasional moment to exchange a flippant 
word, and have a rallying laugh, with the group round the 
fire. The scene completely realized Poor Robin's humble 
idea of the comforts of mid-winter. 

Now trees their leafy hats do bear 
To reverence Winter's silver hair; 
A handsome hostess, merry host, 
A pot of ale now and a toast, 
Tobacco and a good coal-fire. 
Are things this season doth require.^ 

13. I had not been long at the inn when a postchaise 
drove up to the door. A young gentleman stept out, and 
by the light of the lamps I caught a glimpse of a countenance 
which I thought I knew. I moved forward to get a nearer 
view, when his eye caught mine. I was not mistaken ; it was 

' Poor Robin's Almanac, 1684. 



THE STAGE-COACH 49 

Frank Bracebridge, a sprightly, good-humored young fellow, 
with whom I had once travelled on the continent. Our meet- 
ing was extremely cordial, for the countenance of an old 
fellow-traveller always brings up the recollection of a thousand 
pleasant scenes, odd adventures, and excellent jokes. To 
discuss all these in a transient interview at an inn was im- 
possible ; and finding that I was not pressed for time, and was 
merely making a tour of observation, he insisted that I should 
give him a day or two at his father's country-seat, to which he 
was going to pass the holidays, and which lay at a few miles' 
distance. "It is better than eating a solitary Christmas din- 
ner at an inn," said he; "and I can assure you of a hearty 
welcome in something of the old-fashioned style." His 
reasoning was cogent, and I must confess the preparation I 
had seen for universal festivity and social enjoyment had 
made me feel a little impatient of my loneliness. I closed, 
therefore, at once, with his invitation ; the chaise drove up to 
the door, and in a few moments I was on my way to the family 
mansion of the Bracebridges. 



CHRISTMAS EVE 

Saint Francis and Saint Benedight 

Blesse this house from wicked wight ; 

From tlie night-mare and the gobhn, 

That is hight good fellow Robin ; 

Keep it from all evil spirits, 

Fairies, weezels, rats, and ferrets ; 
From curfew time 
To the next prime. — Cartwkight. 

1. It was a brilliant moonlight night, but extremely cold ; 
our chaise whirled rapidly over the frozen ground ; the post- 
boy smacked his whip incessantly, and a part of the time his 
horses were on a gallop. "He knows where he is going,'' said 
my companion, laughing, "and is eager to arrive in time for 
some of the merriment and good cheer of the servants' hall. 
My father, you must know, is a bigoted devotee of the old 
school, and prides himself upon keeping up something of old 
English hospitality. He is a tolerable specimen of what you 
will rarely meet with nowadays in its purity, the old English 
country gentleman ; for our men of fortune spend so much of 
their time in town, and fashion is carried so much into the 
country, that the strong rich peculiarities of ancient rural life 
are almost polished away. My father, however, from early 
years took honest Peacham ^ for his text-book, instead of 
Chesterfield; he determined in his own mind that there was 
no condition more truly honorable and enviable than that of 
a country gentleman on his paternal lands, and therefore 
passes the whole of his time on his estate. He is a strenuous 
advocate for the revival of the old rural games and holiday 
observances, and is deeply read in the writers, ancient and 
modern, who have treated on the subject. Indeed his favorite 
range of reading is among the authors who flourished at least 
two centuries since ; who, he insists, wrote and thought more 
like true Englishmen than any of their successors. He even 
regrets sometimes that he had not been born a few centuries 
earlier, when England was itself, and had its peculiar manners 

^ Peacham 's Complete Gentleman, 1622. 

^0 



CHRISTMAS EVE 51 

and customs. As he lives at some distance from the main 
road, in rather a lonely part of the country, without any rival 
gentry near him, he has that most enviable of all blessings 
to an Englishman, an opportunity of indulging the bent of 
his own humor without molestation. Being representative 
of the oldest family in the neighborhood, and a great part of 
the peasantry being his tenants, he is much looked up to, and, 
in general, is known simply by the appellation of ' The Squire^ ; 
a title which has been accorded to the head of the family since 
time immemorial. I think it best to give you these hints 
about my worthy old father, to prepare you for any eccen- 
tricities that might otherwise appear absurd." 

2. We had passed for some time along the wall of a park, 
and at length the chaise stopped at the gate. It was in a 
heavy magnificent old style, of iron bars, fancifully wrought 
at top into flourishes and flowers. The huge square columns 
that supported the gate were surmounted by the family crest. 
Close adjoining was the porter's lodge, sheltered under dark 
fir-trees, and almost buried in shrubbery. 

3. The post-boy rang a large porter's bell, which resounded 
through the still frosty air, and was answered by the distant 
barking of dogs, with which the mansion-house seemed gar- 
risoned. An old woman immediately appeared at the gate. 
As the moonlight fell strongly upon her, I had a full view of a 
little primitive dame, dressed very much in the antique taste, 
with a neat kerchief and stomacher, and her silver hair peep- 
ing from under a cap of snowy whiteness. She came cour- 
tesying forth, with many expressions of simple joy at seeing 
her young master. Her husband, it seemed, was up at the 
house keeping Christmas eve in the servants' hall ; they could 
not do without him, as he was the best hand at a song and 
story in the household. 

4. My friend proposed that we should alight and walk 
through the park to the hall, which was at no great distance, 
while the chaise should follow on. Our road wound through 
a noble avenue of trees, among the naked branches of which 
the moon glittered, as she rolled through the deep vault of a 
cloudless sky, The lawn beyond was sheeted with a slight 



52 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

covering of snow, which here and there sparkled as the 
moonbeams caught a frosty crystal ; and at a distance might 
be seen a thin transparent vapor, stealing up from the 
low grounds, and threatening gradually to shroud the 
landscape. 

5. My companion looked around him with transport : 
"How often," said he, "have I scampered up this avenue, 
on returning home on school vacations ! How often have I 
played under these trees when a boy ! I feel a degree of filial 
reverence for them, as we look up to those who have cherished 
us in childhood. My father was always scrupulous in exacting 
our holidays, and having us around him on family festivals. 
He used to direct and superintend our games with the strict- 
ness that some parents do the studies of their children. He 
was very particular that we should play the old English games 
according to their original form ; and consulted old books for 
precedent and authority for every 'merrie disport'; yet I 
assure you there never was pedantry so delightful. It was the 
policy of the good old gentleman to make his children feel 
that home was the happiest place in the world ; and I value 
this delicious home-feeling as one of the choicest gifts a parent 
could bestow." 

6. We were interrupted by the clamor of a troop of dogs 
of all sorts and sizes, "mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, 
and curs of low degree," that, disturbed by the ring of the 
porter's bell and the rattling of the chaise, came bounding, 
open-mouthed, across the lawn. 

The little dogs and all, 



Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart, see, they bark at me !' " 

cried Bracebridge, laughing. At the sound of his voice, the 
bark was changed into a yelp of delight, and in a moment he 
was surrounded and almost overpowered by the caresses of the 
faithful animals. 

7. We had now come in full view of the old family mansion, 
partly thrown in deep shadow, and partly lit up by the cool 
moonshine. It was an irregular building, of some magnitude, 
and seemed to be of the architecture of different periods. — 



CHRISTMAS EVE 53 

One wing was evidently very ancient, with heavy stone- 
shafted bow-windows jutting out and overrun with ivy, from 
among the fohage of which the small diamond-shaped panes 
of glass glittered with the moonbeams. The rest of the house 
was in the French taste of Charles the Second's time, having 
been repaired and altered, as my friend told me, by one of his 
ancestors, who returned with that monarch at the Restoration. 
The grounds about the house were laid out in the old formal 
manner of artificial flower-beds, clipped shrubberies, raised 
terraces, and heavy stone balustrades, ornamented with urns, 
a leaden statue or two, and a jet of water. The old gentleman, 
I was told, was extremely careful to preserve this obsolete 
finery in all its original state. He admired this fashion in 
gardening; it had an air of magnificence, was courtly and 
noble, and befitting good old family style. The boasted imi- 
tation of nature in modern gardening had sprung up with 
modern republican notions, but did not suit a monarchical 
government ; it smacked of the levelling system. I could not 
help smiling at this introduction of politics into gardening, 
though I expressed some apprehension that I should find the 
old gentleman rather intolerant in his creed. Frank assured 
me, however, that it was almost the only instance in which he 
had ever heard his father meddle with politics; and he be- 
lieved that he had got this notion from a member of parlia- 
ment who once passed a few weeks with him. The Squire 
was glad of any argument to defend his clipped yew-trees and 
formal terraces, which had been occasionally attacked by 
modern landscape gardeners. 

8. As we approached the house, we heard the sound of 
music, and now and then a burst of laughter, from one end of 
the building. This, Bracebridge said, must proceed from the 
servants' hall, where a great deal of revelry was permitted, 
and even encouraged by the Squire, throughout the twelve 
days of Christmas, provided everything was done conformably 
to ancient usage. Here were kept up the old games of hood- 
man blind, shoe the wild mare, hot cockles, steal the white 
loaf, bob apple, and snap-dragon; the Yule clog and Christ- 
mas candle were regularly burnt, and the mistletoe, with its 



54 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

white berries, hung up, to the imminent peril of all the pretty 
housemaids.^ 

9. So intent were the servants upon their sports that we 
had to ring repeatedly before we could make ourselves heard. 
On our arrival being announced, the Squire came out to 
receive us, accompanied by his two other sons : one a young 
officer in the army, home on leave of absence ; the other an 
Oxonian, just from the university. . The Squire was a fine 
healthy-looking old gentleman, with silver hair curling lightly 
round an open florid countenance; in which the physiogno- 
mist, with the advantage, like myself, of a previous hint or 
two, might discover a singular mixture of whim and benevo- 
lence. 

10. The family meeting was warm and affectionate : as 
the evening was far advanced, the Squire would not permit 
us to change our travelling dresses, but ushered us at once to 
the company, which was assembled in a large old-fashioned 
hall. It was composed of different branches of a numerous 
family connection, where there were the usual proportion of 
old uncles and aunts, comfortable married dames, superan- 
nuated spinsters, blooming country cousins, half-fledged 
striplings, and bright-eyed boarding-school hoydens. They 
were variously occupied : some at a round game of cards ; 
others conversing around the fireplace ; at one end of the hall 
was a group of the young folks, some nearly grown up, others 
of a more tender and budding age, fully engrossed by a merry 
game ; and a profusion of wooden horses, penny trumpets, and 
tattered dolls, about the floor, showed traces of a troop of 
little fairy beings who, having frolicked through a happy day, 
had been carried off to slumber through a peaceful night. 

11. While the mutual greetings were going on between 
young Bracebridge and his relatives, I had time to scan the 
apartment. I have called it a hall, for so it had certainly been 
in old times, and the Squire had evidently endeavored to re- 

^ The mistletoe is still hung up in farm-houses and kitchens at 
Christmas ; and the young men have the privilege of kissing the girls 
under it, plucking each time a berry from the bush. When the 
berries are all plucked, the privilege ceases. 




Bringing in the Yule-log 



56 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

store it to something of its primitive state. Over the heavy 
projecting fireplace was suspended a picture of a warrior in 
armor, standing by a white horse, and on the opposite wall 
hung a helmet, buckler, and lance. At one end an enormous 
pair of antlers were inserted in the wall, the branches serving 
as hooks on which to suspend hats, whips, and spurs ; and in 
the corners of the apartment were fowling-pieces, fishing-rods, 
and other sporting implements. The furniture was of the 
cumbrous workmanship of former days, though some articles 
of modern convenience had been added, and the oaken floor 
had been carpeted ; so that the whole presented an odd mix- 
ture of parlor and hall. 

12. The grate had been removed from the wide overwhelm- 
ing fireplace, to make way for a fire of wood, in the midst of 
which was an enormous log glowing and blazing, and sending 
forth a vast volume of light and heat : this I understood was 
the Yule clog, which the Squire was particular in having 
brought in and illumined on a Christmas eve, according to 
ancient custom.^ 

13. It was really delightful to see the old Squire seated in 
his hereditary elbow-chair, by the hospitable fireside of his 
ancestors, and looking around him like the sun of a system, 

^ The Yule clog is a great log of wood, sometimes the root of a tree, 
brought into the house with great ceremony, 'on Christmas eve, laid 
in the fireplace, and lighted with the brand of last year's clog. While 
it lasted, there was great drinking, singing, and telling of tales. Some- 
times it was accompanied by Christmas candles ; but in the 
cottages the only light was from the ruddy blaze of the great wood- 
fire. The Yule clog was to burn all night ; if it went out, it was con- 
sidered a sign of ill-luck. 

Herrick mentions it in one of his songs : — 
"Come, bring with a noise, 
My merrie, merrie boyes, 
The Christmas log to the firing : 
While my good dame, she 
Bids ye all be free. 
And drink to your hearts' desiring." 

The Yule clog is still burnt in many farm-houses and kitchens in 
England, particularly in the north, and there are several supersti- 
tions connected with it among the peasantry. If a squinting person 
come to the house while it is burning, or a person barefooted, it is con- 
sidered an ill omen. The brand remaining from the Yule clog is 
carefully put away to light the next year's Christmas fire. 



CHRISTMAS EYE 57 

beaming warmth and gladness to every heart. Even the very- 
dog that lay stretched at his feet, as he lazily shifted his posi- 
tion and yawned, would look fondly up in his master's face, 
wag his tail against the floor, and stretch himself again to 
sleep, confident of kindness and protection. There is an ema- 
nation from the heart in genuine hospitality which cannot be 
described, but is immediately felt, and puts the stranger at 
once at his ease. I had not been seated many minutes by the 
comfortable hearth of the worthy old cavalier, before I found 
myself as much at home as if I had been one of the family. 

14. Supper was announced shortly after our arrival. It 
was served up in a spacious oaken chamber, the panels of 
which shone with wax, and around which were several family 
portraits decorated with holly and ivy. Besides the accus- 
tomed lights, two great wax tapers, called Christmas candles, 
wreathed with greens, were placed on a highly-polished 
beaufet among the family plate. The table was abundantly 
spread with substantial fare ; but the Squire made his supper 
of frumenty, a dish made of wheat-cakes boiled in milk, 
with rich spices, being a standing dish in old times for 
Christmas eve. 

15. I was happy to find my old friend, minced-pie, in the 
retinue of the feast ; and finding him to be perfectly orthodox, 
and that I need not be ashamed of my predilection, I greeted 
him with all the warmth wherewith we usually greet an old 
and very genteel acquaintance. 

16. The mirth of the company was greatly promoted by the 
humors of an eccentric personage whom Mr. Bracebridge 
always addressed with the quaint appellation of Master Simon. 
He was a tight brisk little man, with the air of an arrant old 
bachelor. His nose was shaped like the bill of a parrot; his 
face slightly pitted with the small-pox, with a dry perpetual 
bloom on it, like a frostbitten leaf in autumn. He had an eye 
of great quickness and vivacity, with a drollery and lurking 
waggery of expression that was irresistible. He was evidently 
the wit of the family, dealing very much in sly jokes and in- 
nuendoes with the ladies, and making infinite merriment by 
harping upon old themes ; which, unfortunately, my ignorance 



58 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

of the family chronicles did not permit me to enjoy. It 
seemed to be his great delight during supper to keep a young 
girl next him in a continual agony of stifled laughter, in spite 
of her awe of the reproving looks of her mother, who sat op- 
posite. Indeed, he was the idol of the younger part of the 
company, who laughed at everything he said or did, and at 
every turn of his countenance ; I could not wonder at it ; for 
he must have been a miracle of accomplishments in their eyes. 
He could imitate Punch and Judy ; make an old woman of his 
hand, with the assistance of a burnt cork and pocket-handker- 
chief ; and cut an orange into such a ludicrous caricature, that 
the young folks were ready to die with laughing. 

17. I was let briefly into his history by Frank Bracebridge. 
He was an old bachelor, of a small independent income, which, 
by careful management, was sufficient for all his wants. He 
revolved through the family system like a vagrant comet in 
its orbit; sometimes visiting one branch, and sometimes 
another quite remote ; as is often the case with gentlemen of 
extensive connections and small fortunes in England. He 
had a chirping buoyant disposition, always enjoying the pres- 
ent moment ; and his frequent change of scene and company 
prevented his acquiring those rusty unaccommodating habits, 
with which old bachelors are so uncharitably charged. He 
was a complete family chronicle, being versed in the geneal- 
ogy, history, and intermarriages of the whole house of Brace- 
bridge, which made him a great favorite with the old folks; 
he was a beau of all the elder ladies and superannuated spin- 
sters, among whom he was habitually considered rather a 
young fellow, and he was master of the revels among the 
children ; so that there was not a more popular being in the 
sphere in which he moved than Mr. Simon Bracebridge. Of 
late years, he had resided almost entirely with the Squire, to 
whom he had become a factotum, and whom he particularly 
delighted by jumping with his humor in respect to old times, 
and by having a scrap of an old song to suit every occasion. 
We had presently a specimen of his last-mentioned talent; 
for no sooner was supper removed, and spiced wines and other 
beverages peculiar to the season introduced, than Master 



CHRISTMAS EVE 59 

Simon was called on for a good old Christmas song. He 
bethought himself for a moment, and then, with a sparkle of 
the eye, and a voice that was by no means bad, excepting that 
it ran occasionally into a falsetto, like the notes of a split reed, 
he quavered forth a quaint old ditty. 

"Now Christmas is come, 

Let us beat up the drum, 
And call all our neighbors together, 

And when they appear, 

Let us make them such cheer, 
As will keep out the wind and the weather," etc. 

18. The supper had disposed every one to gayety and an 
old harper was summoned from the servants' hall, where he 
had been strumming all the evening, and to all appearance 
comforting himself with some of the Squire's home-brewed. 
He was a kind of hanger-on, I was told, of the establishment, 
and, though ostensibly a resident of the village, was oftener 
to be found in the Squire's kitchen than his own home, the 
old gentleman being fond of the sound of "harp in hall." 

19. The dance, like most dances after supper, was a merry 
one; some of the older folks joined in it, and the Squire him- 
self figured down several couple with a partner, with whom 
he affirmed he had danced at every Christmas for nearly half 
a century. Master Simon, who seemed to be a kind of con- 
necting link between the old times and the new, and to be 
withal a little antiquated in the taste of his accomplishments, 
evidently piqued himself on his dancing, and was endeavoring 
to gain credit by the heel and toe, rigadoon, and other graces to 
the ancient school ; but he had unluckily assorted himself with 
a little romping girl from boarding-school, who, by her wild 
vivacity, kept him continually on the stretch, and defeated 
all his sober attempts at elegance : — such are the illassorted 
matches to which antique gentlemen are unfortunately prone ! 

20. The young Oxonian, on the contrary, had led out one 
of his maiden aunts, on whom the rogue played a thousand 
little knaveries with impunity : he was full of practical jokes, 
and his delight was to tease his aunts and cousins; yet, like 
all mad-cap youngsters, he was a universal favorite among the 
women. The most interesting couple in the dance was the 



60 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

young officer and a ward of the Squire's, a beautiful blushing 
girl of seventeen. From several shy glances which I had 
noticed in the course of the evening, I suspected there was a 
little kindness growing up between them, and, indeed, the 
young soldier was just the hero to captivate a romantic girl. 
He was tall, slender, and handsome, and, like most young 
British officers of late years, had picked up various small 
accomplishments on the continent ; — he could talk French and 
Italian — draw landscapes — sing very tolerably — dance 
divinely ; but, above all, he had been wounded at Waterloo : 
— what girl of seventeen, well read in poetry and romance, 
could resist such a mirror of chivalry and perfection ! 

21. The moment the dance was over, he caught up a guitar 
and, lolling against the old marble fireplace, in an attitude 
which I am half inclined to suspect was studied, began the 
little French air of the Troubadour. The Squire, however, 
exclaimed against having anything on Christmas eve but good 
old English; upon which the young minstrel, casting up his 
eye for a moment, as if in an effort of memory, struck into 
another strain, and, with a charming air of gallantry, gave 
Herrick's ''Night-Piece to Juha.'' 

Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee ; 
The shooting stars attend thee, 

And the elves also, 

Whose little eyes glow 
Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee. 

No Will-o'-the-Wisp mislight thee; 
Nor snake nor slow-worm bite thee ; 

But on, on thy way, 

Not making a stay, 
Since ghost there is none to affright thee. 

Then let not the dark thee cumber ; 
What though the moon does slumber, 

The stars of the night 

Will lend thee their light, 
Like tapers clear without number. 

Then, Julia, let me woo thee, 
Thus, thus to come unto me, 

And when I shall meet 

Thy silvery feet. 
My soul I'll pour into thee. 



CHRISTMAS EYE 6% 

22. The song might or might not have been intended in 
comphment to the fair Juha, for so I found his partner was 
called ; she, however, was certainly unconscious of any such 
application, for she never looked at the singer, but kept her 
eyes cast upon the floor. Her face was suffused, it is true, 
with a beautiful blush, and there was a gentle heaving of the 
bosom, but all that was doubtless caused by the exercise of 
the dance; indeed, so great was her indifference, that she 
amused herself with plucking to pieces a choice bouquet of 
hot-house flowers, and by the time the song was concluded the 
nosegay lay in ruins on the floor. 

23. The party now broke up for the night with the kind- 
hearted old custom of shaking hands. As I passed through the 
hall, on my way to my chamber, the dying embers of the Yule 
clog still sent forth a dusky glow, and had it not been the season 
when "no spirit dares stir abroad," I should have been half 
tempted to steal from my room at midnight, and peep whether 
the fairies might not be at their revels about the hearth. 

24. My chamber was in the old part of the mansion, the 
ponderous furniture of which might have been fabricated in 
the days of the giants. The room was panelled with cornices 
of heavy carved work, in which flowers and grotesque faces 
were strangely intermingled; and a row of black-looking 
portraits stared mournfully at me from the walls. The bed 
was of rich, though faded damask, with a lofty tester, and 
stood in a niche opposite a bow-window. I had scarcely got 
into bed when a strain of music seemed to break forth in the 
air just below the window. I listened, and found it proceeded 
from a band, which I concluded to be the waits from some neigh- 
boring village. They went round the house, playing under 
the windows. I drew aside the curtains to hear them more 
distinctly. The moonbeams fell through the upper part of 
the casement, partially lighting up the antiquated apartment. 
The sounds, as they receded, became more soft and aerial, 
and seemed to accord with the quiet and moonlight. I 
listened and listened, — they became more and more tender 
and remote, and, as they gradually died away, my head sunk 
upon the pillow, and I fell asleep. 



CHRISTMAS DAY 

Dark and dull night, flie hence away, 
And give the honor to this day 
That sees December turn'd to May. 

Why does the chilling winter's morne 
Smile like a field beset with corn ? 
Or smell like to a meade new-shorne, 
Thus on the sudden ? — Come and see 
The cause why things thus fragrant be. 

— Herrick. 

1. When I woke the next morning, it seemed as if all the 
events of the preceding evening had been a dream, and nothing 
but the identity of the ancient chamber convinced me of their 
reality. While I lay musing on my pillow, I heard the sound 
of little feet pattering outside of the door, and a whispering 
consultation. Presently a choir of small voices chanted forth 
an old Christmas carol, the burden of which was — 

"Rejoice, our Saviour he was born 
On Christmas day in the morning." 

2. I rose softly, slipt on my clothes, opened the door sud- 
denly, and beheld one of the most beautiful little fairy groups 
that a painter could imagine. It consisted of a boy and two 
girls, the eldest not more than six, and lovely as seraphs. 
They were going the rounds of the house, and singing at every 
chamber-door; but my sudden appearance frightened them 
into mute bashfulness. They remained for a moment playing 
on their lips with their fingers, and now and then stealing a 
shy glance from under their eyebrows, until, as if by one im- 
pulse, they scampered away, and as they turned an angle of 
the gallery, I heard them laughing in triumph at their escape. 

3. Everything conspired to produce kind and happy feel- 
ings in this stronghold of old-fashioned hospitality. The 
window of my chamber looked out upon what in summer 
would have been a beautiful landscape. There was a sloping 
lawn, a fine stream winding at the foot of it, and a tract of 
park beyond, with noble clumps of trees, and herds of deer. 

62 



CHRISTMAS DAY 63 

At a distance was a neat hamlet, with the smoke from the 
cottage-chimneys hanging over it; and a church with its 
dark spire in strong rehef against the clear, cold sky. The 
house was surrounded with evergreens, according to the Eng- 
lish custom, which would have given almost an appearance of 
summer; but the morning was extremely frosty; the light 
vapor of the preceding evening had been precipitated by the 
cold, and covered all the trees and every blade of grass with 
its fine crystallizations. The rays of a bright morning sun had 
a dazzling effect among the glittering foliage. A robin, perched 
upon the top of a mountain-ash that hung its clusters of red 
berries just before my window, was basking himself in the sun- 
shine, and piping a few querulous notes ; and a peacock was dis- 
playing all the glories of his train, and strutting with the pride 
and gravity of a Spanish grandee, on the terrace walk below. 

4. I had scarcely dressed myself, when a servant appeared 
to invite me to family prayers. He showed me the way to a 
small chapel in the old wing of the house, where I found the 
principal part of the family already assembled in a kind of 
gallery, furnished with cushions, hassocks, and large prayer- 
books ; the servants were seated on benches below. The old 
gentleman read prayers from a desk in front of the gallery, 
and Master Simon acted as clerk, and made the responses; 
and I must do him the justice to say that he acquitted him- 
self with great gravity and decorum. 

5. The service was followed by a Christmas carol, which 
Mr. Bracebridge himself had constructed from a poem of his 
favorite author, Herri ck ; and it had been adapted to an old 
church-melody by Master Simon. As there were several 
good voices among the household, the effect was extremely 
pleasing; but I was particularly gratified by the exaltation 
of heart, and sudden sally of grateful feeling, with which the 
worthy Squire delivered one stanza; his eye glistening, and 
his voice rambling out of all the bounds of time and tune : 

" 'Tis thou that crown 'st my glittering hearth 
With guiltless mirth, 
And givest me Wassaile bowles to drink 
Spiced to the brink ; 



64 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

Lord, 'tis thy plenty-dropping hand 

That soiles my land ; 
And giv'st me for my bushell sowne, 

Twice ten for one." 

6. I afterwards understood that early morning service 
was read on every Sunday and saint's day throughout the 
year, either by Mr. Bracebridge or by some member of the 
family. It was once almost universally the case at the seats 
of the nobility and gentry of England, and it is much to be 
regretted that the custom is falling into neglect ; for the dullest 
observer must be sensible of the order and serenity prevalent 
in those households, where the occasional exercise of a beauti- 
ful form of worship in the morning gives, as it were, the key- 
note to every temper for the day, and attunes every spirit to 
harmony. 

7. Our breakfast consisted of what the Squire denominated 
true old English fare. He indulged in some bitter lamenta- 
tions over modern breakfasts of tea and toast, which he cen- 
sured as among the causes of modern effeminacy and weak 
nerves, and the decline of old English heartiness ; and though 
he admitted them to his table to suit the palates of his guests, 
yet there was a brave display of cold meats, wine, and ale, 
on the sideboard. 

8. After breakfast I walked about the grounds with Frank 
Bracebridge and Master Simon, or, Mr. Simon, as he was 
called by everybody but the Squire. We were escorted by a 
number of gentlemanlike dogs, that seemed loungers about 
the establishment, from the frisking spaniel to the steady 
old stag-hound, — the last of which was of a race that had 
been in the family time out of mind ; they were all obedient 
to a dog-whistle which hung to Master Simon's button-hole, 
and in the midst of their gambols would glance an eye occa- 
sionally upon a small switch he carried in his hand. 

9. The old mansion had a still more venerable look in the 
yellow sunshine than by pale moonlight ; and I could not but 
feel the force of the Squire's idea, that the formal terraces, 
heavily moulded balustrades, and clipped yew-trees carried 
with them an air of proud aristocracy. There appeared to 
be an unusual number of peacocks about the place, and I 



CHRISTMAS DAY 65 

was making some remarks upon what I termed a flock of 
them, that were basking under a sunny wall, when I was 
gently corrected in my phraseology by Master Simon, who 
told me that, according to the most ancient and approved 
treatise on hunting, I must say a muster of peacocks. " In 
the same way,'' added he, with a slight air of pedantry, "we 
say a flight of doves or swallows, a bevy of quails, a herd of 
deer, of wrens, or cranes, a skulk of foxes, or a building of 
rooks." He went on to inform me that, according to Sir 
Anthony Fitzherbert, we ought to ascribe to this bird "both 
understanding and glory; for, being praised, he will presently 
set up his tail, chiefly against the sun, to the intent you may 
the better behold the beauty thereof. But at the fall of the 
leaf, when his tail falleth, he will mourn and hide himself in 
corners, till his tail come again as it was." 

10. I could not help smiling at this display of small erudi- 
tion on so whimsical a subject ; but I found that the peacocks 
were birds of some consequence at the hall ; for Frank Brace- 
bridge informed me that they were great favorites with his 
father, who was extremely careful to keep up the breed ; partly 
because they belonged to chivalry, and were in great request 
at the stately banquets of the olden time, and partly because 
they had a pomp and magnificence about them, highly be- 
coming an old family mansion. Nothing, he was accus- 
tomed to say, had an air of greater state and dignity than a 
peacock perched upon an antique stone balustrade. 

11. Master Simon had now to hurry off, having an appoint- 
ment at the parish church with the village choristers, who were 
to perform some music of his selection. There was some- 
thing extremely agreeable in the cheerful flow of animal 
spirits of the little man ; and I confess I had been somewhat 
surprised at his apt quotations from authors who certainly 
were not in the range of every-day reading. I mentioned this 
last circumstance to Frank Bracebridge, who told me with a 
smile that Master Simon's whole stock of erudition was con- 
fined to some half a dozen old authors, which the Squire had 
put into his hands, and which he read over and over, whenever 
he had a studious fit ; as he sometimes had on a rainy day, 



66 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

or a long winter evening. Sir Anthony Fitzherbert's Book 
of Husbandry; Markham's Country Contentments; the 
Tretyse of Hunting, by Sir Thomas Cockayne, Knight; 
Izaac Walton's Angler, and two or three more such ancient 
worthies of the pen, were his standard authorities; and, 
like all men who know but a few books, he looked up to them 
with a kind of idolatry, and quoted them on all occasions. 
As to his songs, they were chiefly picked out of old books in 
the Squire's library, and adapted to tunes that were popular 
among the choice spirits of the last century. His practical 
application of scraps of literature, however, had caused him 
to be looked upon as a prodigy of book-knowledge by all 
the groorris, huntsmen, and small sportsmen of the neighbor- 
hood. 

12. While we were talking we heard the distant tolling of 
the village-bell, and I was told that the Squire was a little 
particular in having his household at church on a Christmas 
morning, considering it a day of pouring out of thanks and 
rejoicing; for, as old Tusser observed, 

"At Christmas be merry, and thankful withal, 
And feast thy poor neighbors, the great with the small." 

13. ''If you are disposed to go to church," said Frank 
Bracebridge, "I can promise you a specimen of my cousin 
Simon's musical achievements. As the church is destitute 
of an organ, he has formed a band from the village amateurs, 
and established a musical club for their improvement ; he has 
also sorted a choir, as he sorted my father's pack of hounds, 
according to the directions of Jervaise Markham, in his 
Country Contentments ; for the bass he has sought out all the 
'deep, solemn mouths,' and for the tenor the 'loud-ringing 
mouths,' among the country bumpkins; and for 'sweet 
mouths,' he has culled with curious taste among the prettiest 
lasses in the neighborhood; though these last, he affirms, 
are the most difficult to keep in tune; your pretty female 
singer being exceedingly wayward and capricious, and very 
liable to accident." 

14. As the morning, though frosty, was remarkably fine 



CHRISTMAS DAY 67 

and clear, the most of the family walked to the church, 
which was a very old building of gray stone, and stood near 
a village, about half a mile from the park-gate. Adjoining 
it was a low snug parsonage, which seemed coeval with the 
church. The front of it was perfectly matted with a yew- 
tree, that had been trained against its walls, through the dense 
foliage of which, apertures had been formed to admit light 
into the small antique lattices. As we passed this sheltered 
nest, the parson issued forth and preceded us. 

15. I had expected to see a sleek, well-conditioned pastor, 
such as is often found in a snug living in the vicinity of a rich 
patron^s table ; but I was disappointed. The parson was a 
little, meagre, black-looking man, with a grizzled wig that was 
too wide, and stood off from each ear ; so that his head seemed 
to have shrunk away within it, like a dried filbert in its shell. 
He wore a rusty coat, with great skirts, and pockets that would 
have held the church Bible and prayer-book: and his small 
legs seemed still smaller, from being planted in large shoes, 
decorated with enormous buckles. 

16. I was informed by Frank Bracebridge, that the parson 
had been a chum of his father's at Oxford, and had received 
this living shortly after the latter had come to his estate. 
He was a complete black-letter hunter, and would scarcely 
read a work printed in the Roman character. The editions 
of Caxton and Wynkin de Worde were his delight; and he 
was indefatigable in his researches after such old English 
writers as have fallen into oblivion from their worthlessness. 
In deference, perhaps, to the notions of Mr. Bracebridge, he 
had made diligent investigations into the festive rites and 
holiday customs of former times; and had been as zealous 
in the inquiry as if he had been a boon companion; but it 
was merely with that plodding spirit with which men of adust 
temperament follow up any track of study, merely because it 
is denominated learning; indifferent to its intrinsic nature, 
whether it be the illustration of the wisdom, or of the ribaldry 
and obscenity of antiquity. He had pored over these old 
volumes so intensely, that they seemed to have been reflected 
in his countenance ; which, if the face be indeed an index 



68 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

of the mind, might be compared to a title-page of black- 
letter. 

17. On reaching the church-porch, we found the parson 
rebuking the gray-headed sexton for having used mistletoe 
among the greens with which the church was decorated. It 
was, he observed, an unholy plant, profaned by having been 
used by the Druids in their mystic ceremonies; and though 
it might be innocently employed in the festive ornamenting 
of halls and kitchens, yet it had been deemed by the Fathers 
of the Church as unhallowed, and totally unfit for sacred 
purposes. So tenacious was he on this point, that the poor 
sexton was obliged to strip down a great part of the humble 
trophies of his taste, before the parson would consent to enter 
upon the service of the day. 

18. The interior of the church was venerable but simple; 
on the walls were several mural monuments of the Brace- 
bridges, and just beside the altar was a tomb of ancient work- 
manship, on which lay the effigy of a warrior in armor, with 
his legs crossed, a sign of his having been a Crusader. I was 
told it was one of the family who had signalized himself in 
the Holy Land, and the same whose picture hung over the 
fireplace in the hall. 

19. During service, Master Simon stood up in the pew, 
and repeated the responses very audibly ; evincing that kind 
of ceremonious devotion punctually observed by a gentleman 
of the old school, and a man of old family connections. I 
observed, too, that he turned over the leaves of a folio prayer- 
book with something of a flourish ; possibly to show off an 
enormous seal-ring which enriched one of his fingers, and 
which had the look of a family relic. But he was evidently 
most solicitous about the musical part of the service, keeping 
his eye fixed intently on the choir, and beating time with 
much gesticulation and emphasis. 

20. The orchestra was in a small gallery, and presented a 
most whimsical grouping of heads, piled one above the other, 
among which I particularly noticed that of the village tailor, 
a pale fellow with a retreating forehead and chin, who played 
on the clarionet, and seemed to have blown his face to a point ; 



CHRISTMAS DAY 69 

and there was another, a short pursy man, stooping and labor- 
ing at a bass-viol, so as to show nothing but the top of a 
round bald head, like the egg of an ostrich. There were two 
or three pretty faces among the female singers, to which the 
keen air of a frosty morning had given a bright rosy tint ; but 
the gentlemen choristers had evidently been chosen, like old 
Cremona fiddles, more for tone than looks; and as several 
had to sing from the same book, there were clusterings of odd 
physiognomies, not unlike those groups of cherubs we some- 
times see on country tombstones. 

21. The usual services of the choir were managed tolerably 
well, the vocal parts generally lagging a little behind the in- 
strumental, and some loitering fiddler now and then making 
up for lost time by travelling over a passage with prodigious 
celerity, and clearing more bars than the keenest fox-hunter 
to be in at the death. But the great trial was an anthem that 
had been prepared and arranged by Master Simon, and on 
which he had founded great expectation. Unluckily there 
was a blunder at the very outset; the musicians became 
flurried ; Master Simon was in a fever ; everything went on 
lamely and irregularly until they came to a chorus beginning, 
"Now let us sing with one accord," which seemed to be a 
signal for parting company : all became discord and confusion ; 
each shifted for himself, and got to the end as well, or, rather, 
as soon as he could, excepting one old chorister in a pair of 
horn spectacles, bestriding and pinching a long sonorous nose ; 
who happened to stand a little apart, and, being wrapped up 
in his own melody, kept on a quavering course, wriggling his 
head, ogling his book, and winding all up by a nasal solo of at 
least three bars' duration. 

22. The parson gave us a most erudite sermon on the rites 
and ceremonies of Christmas, and the propriety of observing 
it not merely as a day of thanksgiving, but of rejoicing; sup- 
porting the correctness of his opinions by the earliest usages 
of the church, and enforcing them by the authorities of 
Theophilus of Cesarea, St. Cyprian, St. Chrysostom, St. 
Augustine, and a cloud more of saints and fathers, from whom 
he made copious quotations. I was a little at a loss to per- 



70 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

ceive the necessity of such a mighty array of forces to main- 
tain a point which no one present seemed incHned to dispute ; 
but I soon found that the good man had a legion of ideal 
adversaries to contend with ; having, in the course of his re- 
searches on the subject of Christmas, got completely embroiled 
in the sectarian controversies of the Revolution, when the 
Puritans made such a fierce assault upon the ceremonies of 
the church, and poor old Christmas was driven out of the land 
by proclamation of Parliament.^ The worthy parson lived 
but with times past, and knew but little of the present. 

23. Shut up among worm-eaten tomes in the retirement 
of his antiquated little study, the pages of old times were to 
him as the gazettes of the day ; while the era of the Revolution 
was mere modern history. He forgot that nearly two cen- 
turies had elapsed since the fiery persecution of poor mince- 
pie throughout the land ; when plum-porridge was denounced 
as "mere popery,'' and roast-beef as anti-Christian ; and that 
Christmas had been brought in again triumphantly with the 
merry court of King Charles at the Restoration. He kindled 
into warmth with the ardor of his contest, and the host of 
imaginary foes with whom he had to combat ; he had a stub- 
born conflict with old Prynne and two or three other forgotten 
champions of the Round Heads on the subject of Christmas 
festivity; and concluded by urging his hearers, in the most 
solemn and affecting manner, to stand to the traditional 
customs of their fathers, and feast and make merry on this 
joyful anniversary of the Church. 

24. I have seldom known a sermon attended apparently 

^ From the "Flying Eagle, "a small Gazette, published December 
24th, 1652 : — "The House spent much time this day about the busi- 
ness of the Navy, for settling the affairs at sea, and before they rose, 
were presented with a terrible remonstrance against Christmas day, 
grounded upon divine Scriptures, 2 Cor. v. 16 ; 1 Cor. xv. 14, 17 ; and 
in honor of the Lord's Day, grounded upon these Scriptures, John xx. 
1; Rev. i. 10; Psalm cxviii. 24; Lev. xxiii. 7, 11; Mark xv. 8; 
Psalm Ixxxiv. 10, in which Christmas is called Anti-christ's masse, 
and those Masse-mongers and Papists who observe it, etc. In con- 
sequence of which Parliament spent some time in consultation about 
the abolition of Christmas day, passed orders to that effect, and re- 
solved to sit on the following day which was commonly called Christ- 
mas day." 



CHRISTMAS DAY 71 

with more immediate effects; for on leaving the church the 
congregation seemed one and all possessed with the gayety 
of spirit so earnestly enjoined by their pastor. The elder 
folks gathered in knots in the churchyard, greeting and shak- 
ing hands ; and the children ran about crying Ule ! Ule ! 
and repeating some uncouth rhymes/ which the parson, who 
had joined us, informed me had been handed down from days 
of yore. The villagers doffed their hats to the Squire as he 
passed, giving him the good wishes of the season with every 
appearance of heartfelt sincerity, and were invited by him 
to the hall, to take something to keep out the cold of the 
weather; and I heard blessings uttered by several of the 
poor, which convinced me that, in the midst of his enjoy- 
ments, the worthy old cavalier had not forgotten the true 
Christmas virtue of charity. 

25. On our way homeward his heart seemed overflowed 
with generous and happy feelings. As we passed over a 
rising ground which commanded something of a prospect, 
the sounds of rustic merriment now and then reached our 
ears : the Squire paused for a few moments, and looked around 
with an air of inexpressible benignity. The beauty of the 
day was of itself sufficient to inspire philanthropy. Not- 
withstanding the frostiness of the morning, the sun in his 
cloudless journey had acquired sufficient power to melt away 
the thin covering of snow from every southern declivity, and 
to bring out the living green which adorns an English land- 
scape even in midwinter. Large tracts of smiling verdure 
contrasted with the dazzling whiteness of the shaded slopes 
and hollows. Every sheltered bank, on which the broad 
rays rested, yielded its silver rill of cold and limpid water, 
glittering through the dripping grass; and sent up slight 
exhalations to contribute to the thin haze that hung just 
above the surface of the earth. There was something truly 
cheering in this triumph of warmth and verdure over the frosty 
thraldom of winter ; it was, as the Squire observed, an emblem 

i"Ule! Ule! 

Three puddings in a pule, 
Crack nuts and cry ule ! " 



72 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

of Christmas hospitality, breaking through the chills of cere- 
mony and selfishness, and thawing every heart into a flow. 
He pointed with pleasure to the indications of good cheer 
reeking from the chimneys of the comfortable farm-houses 
and low thatched cottages. "I love," said he, "to see this 
day well kept by rich and poor; it is a great thing to have 
one day in the year, at least, when you are sure of being wel- 
come wherever you go, and of having, as it were, the world all 
thrown open to you; and I am almost disposed to join with 
Poor Robin, in his malediction on every churlish enemy to 
this honest festival, — 

" Those who at Christmas do repine 

And would fain hence dispatch him, 
May they with old Duke Humphry dine, 
Or else may Squire Ketch catch 'em." 

26. The Squire went on to lament the deplorable decay of 
the games and amusements which were once prevalent at 
this season among the lower orders, and countenanced by the 
higher; when the old halls of the castles and manor-houses 
were thrown open at daylight ; when the tables were covered 
with brawn, and beef, and humming ale ; when the harp and 
the carol resounded all day long, and when rich and poor were 
alike welcome to enter and make merry.^ *'Our old games 
and local customs,'^ said he, "had a great effect in making 
the peasant fond of his home, and the promotion of them by 
the gentry made him fond of his lord. They made the times 
merrier, and kinder, and better, and I can truly say, with one 
of our old poets, — 

*" I Hke them well — the curious preciseness 
And all-pretended gravity of those 
That seek to banish hence these harmless sports 
Have thrust away much ancient honesty." 

^ "An English gentleman, at the opening of the great day, i.e. on 
Christmas day in the morning, had all his tenants and neighbors enter 
his hall by daybreak. The strong bear was broached, and the black- 
jacks went plentifully about with toast, sugar and nutmeg, and 
good Cheshire cheese. The Hackin (the great sausage) must be 
boiled by day-break, or else two young men must take the maiden {i.e. 
the cook) by the arms, and run her round the market-place till she 
is shamed of her laziness." — Round about our Sea-Coal Fire. 



CHKISTMAS DAY 73 

27. "The nation/' continued he, "is altered ; we have almost 
lost our simple true-hearted peasantry. They have broken 
asunder from the higher classes, and seem to think their 
interests are separate. They have become too knowing, and 
begin to read newspapers, listen to ale-house politicians, and 
talk of reform. I think one mode to keep them in good- 
humor in these hard times would be for the nobility and 
gentry to pass more time on their estates, mingle more among 
the country people, and set the merry old English games 
going again." 

28. Such was the good Squire's project for mitigating 
public discontent : and, indeed, he had once attempted to 
put his doctrine in practice, and a few years before had kept 
open house during the holidays in the old style. The country 
people, however, did not understand how to play their parts 
in the scene of hospitality ; many uncouth circumstances oc- 
curred; the manor was overrun by all the vagrants of the 
country, and more beggars drawn into the neighborhood in 
one week than the parish officers could get rid of in a year. 
Since then, he had contented himself with inviting the decent 
part of the neighboring peasantry to call at the hall on Christ- 
mas day, and with distributing beef, and bread, and ale, 
among the poor, that they might make merry in their own 
dwellings. 

29. We had not been long home when the sound of music 
was heard from a distance. A band of country lads, without 
coats, their shirt-sleeves fancifully tied with ribbons, their 
hats decorated with greens, and clubs in their hands, was seen 
advancing up the avenue, followed by a large number of vil- 
lagers and peasantry. They stopped before the hall-door, 
where the music struck up a peculiar air, and the lads per- 
formed a curious and intricate dance, advancing, retreating, 
and striking their clubs together, keeping exact time to the 
music ; while one, whimsically crowned with a fox's skin, the 
tail of which flaunted down his back, kept capering round the 
skirts of the dance, and rattling a Christmas box with many 
antic gesticulations. 

30. The Squire eyed this fanciful exhibition with great 



74 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

interest and delight, and gave me a full account of its origin, 
which he traced to the times when the Romans held posses- 
sion of the island ; plainly proving that this was a lineal de- 
scendant of the sword-dance of the ancients. "It was now," 
he said, "nearly extinct, but he had accidentally met with 
traces of it in the neighborhood, and had encouraged its revi- 
val ; though, to tell the truth, it was too apt to be followed up 
by the rough cudgel play, and broken heads in the evening." 

31. After the dance was concluded, the whole party was 
entertained with brawn and beef, and stout home-brewed. 
The Squire himself mingled among the rustics, and was re- 
ceived with awkward demonstrations of deference and regard. 
It is true I perceived two or three of the younger peasants, as 
they were raising their tankards to their mouths, when the 
Squire's back was turned, making something of a grimace, and 
giving each other the wink ; but the moment they caught my 
eye they pulled grave faces, and were exceedingly demure. 
With Master Simon, however, they all seemed more at their 
ease. His varied occupations and amusements had made 
him well known throughout the neighborhood. He was a 
visitor at every farm-house and cottage; gossiped with the 
farmers and their wives ; romped with their daughters ; and, 
like that type of a vagrant bachelor, the humblebee, tolled 
the sweets from all the rosy lips of the country round. 

32. The bashfulness of the guests soon gave way before 
good cheer and affability. There is something genuine and 
affectionate in the gayety of the lower orders, when it is ex- 
cited by the bounty and familiarity of those above them ; the 
warm glow of gratitude enters into their mirth, and a kind 
word or a small pleasantry frankly uttered by a patron, 
gladdens the heart of the dependent more than oil and wine. 
When the Squire had retired, the merriment increased, and 
there was much joking and laughter, particularly between 
Master Simon and a hale, ruddy-faced, white-headed farmer, 
who appeared to be the wit of the village ; for I observed all 
his companions to wait with open mouths for his retorts, and 
burst into a gratuitous laugh before they could well under- 
stand them. 



CHRISTMAS DAY 75 

33. The whole house indeed seemed abandoned to merri- 
ment : as I passed to my room to dress for dinner, I heard 
the sound of music in a small court, and, looking through a 
window that commanded it, I perceived a band of wandering 
musicians, with pandean pipes and tambourine; a pretty 
coquettish housemaid was dancing a jig with a smart country 
lad, while several of the other servants were looking on. In 
the midst of her sport the girl caught a glimpse of my face at 
the window, and, coloring up, ran off with an air of roguish 
affected confusion. 



THE CHRISTMAS DINNER 

Lo, now is come our joyful'st feast ! 

Let every man be jolly, 
Eache roome with yvie leaves is drest, 

And every post with holly. 
Now all our neighbours' chimneys smoke, 

And Christmas blocks are burning ; 
Their ovens they with bak't meats choke, 
And all their spits are turning. 
Without the door let sorrow lie. 
And if, for cold, it hap to die. 
Wee 'le bury 't in a Christmas pye, 
And evermore be merry. 

— Withers 's Juvenilia. 

1. I had finished my toilet, and was loitering with Frank 
Bracebridge in the library, when we heard a distant thwacking 
sound, which he informed me was a signal for the serving up 
of the dinner. The Squire kept up old customs in kitchen as 
well as hall ; and the rolling-pin, struck upon the dresser by 
the cook, summoned the servants to carry in the meats. 

"Just in this nick the cook knock 'd thrice, 
And all the waiters in a trice 

His summons did obey ; 
Each serving man, with dish in hand, 
March 'd boldly up, like our train band. 

Presented and away." ^ 

2. The dinner was served up in the great hall where the 
Squire always held his Christmas banquet. A blazing, crack- 
ling fire of logs had been heaped on to warm the spacious 
apartment, and the flame went sparkling and wreathing up 
the wide-mouthed chimney. The great picture of the cru- 
sader and his white horse had been profusely decorated with 
greens for the occasion ; and holly and ivy had likewise been' 
wreathed round the helmet and weapons on the opposite wall, 
which I understood were the arms of the same warrior. I 
must own, by the by, I had strong doubts about the authen- 
ticity of the painting and armor as having belonged to the 
crusader, they certainly having the stamp of more recent days ; 
but I was told that the painting had been so considered time 
out of mind ; and that, as to the armor, it had been found in a 

^ Sir John Suckling. 
76 



THE CHRISTMAS DINNER 7T 

lumber-room, and elevated to its present situation by the 
Squire, who at once determined it to be the armor of the family- 
hero ; and as he was absolute authority on all such subjects in 
his own household, the matter had passed into current ac- 
ceptation. A sideboard was set out just under this chivalric 
trophy, on which was a display of plate that might have vied 
(at least in variety) with Belshazzar's parade of the vessels 
of the temple: '^ flagons, cans, cups, beakers, goblets, basins, 
and ewers;" the gorgeous utensils of good companionship 
that had gradually accumulated through many generations 
of jovial housekeepers. Before these stood the two Yule 
candles, beaming like two stars of the first magnitude ; other 
lights were distributed in branches, and the whole array 
glittered like a firmament of silver. 

3. We were ushered into this banqueting scene with the 
sound of minstrelsy, the old harper being seated on a stool 
beside the fireplace, and twanging his instrument with a vast 
deal more power than melody. Never did Christmas board 
display a more goodly and gracious assemblage of counte- 
nances ; those who were not handsome were, at least, happy ; 
and happiness is a rare improver of your hard-favored visage. 
I always consider an old English family as well worth studying 
as a collection of Holbein's portraits or Albert Dtirer's prints. 
There is much antiquarian lore to be acquired ; much knowl- 
edge of the physiognomies of former times. Perhaps it may 
be from having continually before their eyes those rows of old 
family portraits, with which the mansions of this country are 
stocked; certain it is, that the quaint features of antiquity 
are often most faithfully perpetuated in these ancient lines; 
and I have traced an old family nose through a whole picture 
gallery, legitimately handed down from generation to gener- 
ation, almost from the time of the Conquest. Something of 
the kind was to be observed in the worthy company around 
me. Many of their faces had evidently originated in a Gothic 
age, and been merely copied by succeeding generations ; and 
there was one little girl in particular, of staid demeanor, with 
a high Roman nose, and an antique vinegar aspect, who was 
a great favorite of the Squire's, being, as he said, a Brace- 



78 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

bridge all over, and the very counterpart of one of his ances- 
tors who figured in the court of Henry VIII. 

4. The parson said grace, which was not a short familiar 
one, such as is commonly addressed to the Deity in these un- 
ceremonious days; but a long courtly, well-worded one of 
the ancient school. There was now a pause, as if something 
was expected; when suddenly the butler entered the hall 
with some degree of bustle : he was attended by a servant on 
each side with a large wax-light, -and bore a silver dish, on 
which was an enormous pig's head, decorated with rosemary, 
with a lemon in its mouth, which was placed with great for- 
mality at the head of the table. The moment this pageant 
made its appearance, the harper struck up a flourish ; at the 
conclusion of which the young Oxonian, on receiving a hint 
from the Squire, gave, with an air of the most comic gravity, 
an old carol, the first verse of which was as follows : — 

"Caput apri defero 

Reddens laudes Domino. 
The boar's head in hand bring I, 
With garlands gay and rosemary. 
I pray you all synge merrily 

Qui estis in convivio." 

5. Though prepared to witness many of these little eccen- 
tricities, from being apprised of the peculiar hobby of mine 
host, yet, I confess, the parade with which so odd a dish was 
introduced somewhat perplexed me, until I gathered from the 
conversation of the Squire and the parson, that it was meant 
to represent the bringing in of the boar's head : a dish formerly 
served up with much ceremony and the sound of minstrelsy 
and song, at great tables, on Christmas day. " I like the old 
custom," said the Squire, "not merely because it is stately 
and pleasing in itself, but because it was observed at the 
college at Oxford at which I was educated. When I hear the 
old song chanted, it brings to mind the time when I was young 
and gamesome, — and the noble old college-hall, — and my 
fellow-students loitering about in their black gowns ; many of 
whom, poor lads, are now in their graves!" 

6. The parson, however, whose mind was not haunted by 
such associations, and who was always more taken up with 




Bringing in the Boar's Head 



80 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

the text than the sentiment, objected to the Oxonian's version 
of the carol ; which he affirmed was different from that sung 
at college. He went on, with the dry perseverance of a com- 
mentator, to give the college reading, accompanied by sundry 
annotations; addressing himself at first to the company at 
large ; but finding their attention gradually diverted to other 
talk and other objects, he lowered his tone as his number of 
auditors diminished, until he concluded his remarks in an 
undervoice, to a fat-headed old gentleman next him, who was 
silently engaged in the discussion of a huge plateful of turkey.^ 
7. The table was literally loaded with good cheer and pre- 
sented an epitome of country abundance, in this season of 
overflowing larders. A distinguished post was allotted to 
''ancient sirloin,'^ as mine host termed it ; being, as he added, 
''the standard of old English hospitality, and a joint of goodly 
presence, and full of expectation." There were several dishes 
quaintly decorated, and which had evidently something tra- 
ditional in their embellishments; but about which, as I did 
not like to appear over-curious, I asked no questions. 

^ The old ceremony of serving up the boar's head on Christmas day 
is still observed in the hall of Queen's College, Oxford. I was favored 
by the parson with a copy of the carol as now sung, and, as it may 
be acceptable to such of my readers as are curious in these grave and 
learned matters, I give it entire. 

"The boar's head in hand bear I, 
Bedeck 'd with bays and rosemary ; 
And I pray you, my masters, be merry 
Quot estis in convivio. 
Caput apri defero, 
Reddens laudes domino. 

"The boar's head, as I understand, 
Is the rarest dish in all this land, 
Which thus bedeck 'd with a gay garland 
Let us servire cantico. 
Caput apri defero, etc. 

"Our steward hath provided this 
In honor of the King of Bliss, 
Which on this day to be served is 
In Reginensi Atrio. 
Caput apri defero," 

etc., etc., etc. 



THE CHRISTMAS DINNER 81 

8. I could not, however, but notice a pie, magnificently 
decorated with peacock's feathers in imitation of the tail of 
that bird, which overshadowed a considerable tract of the 
table. This, the Squire confessed, with some little hesitation, 
was a pheasant-pie, though a peacock-pie was certainly the 
most authentical ; but there had been such a mortality among 
the peacocks this season, that he could not prevail upon him- 
self to have one killed.^ 

9. It would be tedious, perhaps, to my wiser readers, who 
may not have that foolish fondness for odd and obsolete 
things to which I am a little given, were I to mention the other 
makeshifts of this worthy old humorist, by which he was en- 
deavoring to follow up, though at humble distance, the quaint 
customs of antiquity. I was pleased, however, to see the 
respect shown to his whims by his children and relatives; 
who, indeed, entered readily into the full spirit of them, and 
seemed all well versed in their parts ; having doubtless been 
present at many a rehearsal. I was amused, too, at the air 
of profound gravity with which the butler and other servants 
executed the duties assigned them, however eccentric. They 
had an old-fashioned look; having, for the most part, been 
brought up in the household, and grown into keeping with 
the antiquated mansion, and the humors of its lord ; and most 
probably looked upon all his whimsical regulations as the 
established laws of honorable housekeeping. 

10. When the cloth was removed, the butler brought in a 

^ The peacock was anciently in great demand" for stately entertain- 
ments. Sometimes it was made into a pie, at one end of which the 
head appeared above the crust in all its plumage, with the beak richly 
gilt ; at the other end the tail was displayed. Such pies were served 
up at the solemn banquets of chivalry, when knights-errant pledged 
themselves to undertake any perilous enterprise, whence came the 
ancient oath, used by Justice Shallow, "by cock and pie." 

The peacock was also an important dish for the Christmas feast ; 
and Massinger, in his "City Madam," gives some idea of the extrava- 
gance with which this, as well as other dishes, was prepared for the 
gorgeous revels of the olden times : — 

"Men may talk of Country Christmasses, 

"Their thirty pound butter'd eggs, their pies of carps' tongues; 
"Their pheasants drench 'd with ambergris ; the carcases of three fat 
wethers bruised for gravy to make sauce for a single peacock." 



82 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

huge silver vessel of rare and curious workmanship, which 
he placed before the Squire. Its appearance was hailed with 
acclamation ; being the Wassail Bowl, so renowned in Christ- 
mas festivity. The contents had been prepared by the Squire 
himself ; for it was a beverage in the skilful mixture of which he 
particularly prided himself ; alleging that it was too abstruse 
and complex for the comprehension of an ordinary servant. 
It was a potation, indeed, that might well make the heart of 
a toper leap within him ; being composed of the richest and 
raciest wines, highly spiced and sweetened, with roasted apples 
bobbing about the surface.^ 

11. The old gentleman's whole countenance beamed with 
a serene look of indwelling delight, as he stirred this mighty 
bowl. Having raised it to his lips, with a hearty wish of a 
merry Christmas to all present, he sent it brimming round the 
board, for every one to follow his example, according to the 
primitive style ; pronouncing it "the ancient fountain of good 
feeling, where all hearts met together.'' ^ 

12. There was much laughing and rallying as the honest 
emblem of Christmas joviahty circulated, and was kissed 
rather coyly by the ladies. When it reached Master Simon, 
he raised it in both hands, and with the air of a boon com- 
panion struck up an old Wassail chanson. 

"The brown bowle, 
The merry brown bowle, 

^ The "Wassail Bowl was sometimes composed of ale instead of wine ; 
with nutmeg, sugar, toast, ginger, and roasted crabs : in this way the 
nut-brown beverage is still prepared in some old families and round 
the hearths of substantial farmers at Christmas. It is also called 
Lamb's Wool, and is celebrated by Herrick in his "Twelfth Night " : — 

"Next crowne the bowle full 

With gentle Lamb's Wool ; 
Add sugar, nutmeg, and ginger 

With store of ale too ; 

And thus ye must doe 
To make the Wassaile a swinger." 

2 "The custom of drinking out of the same cup gave place to each 
having his cup. When the steward came to the doore with the 
Wassel, he was to cry three times, Wassel, Wassel, W asset, and then 
the chappel (chaplein) was to answer with a song." — Archceologia. 



THE CHRISTMAS DINNER 83 

As it goes round about-a, 

Fill 

Still, 
Let the world say what it will 
And drink your fill all out-a. 

'The deep canne, 

The merry deep canne, 

As thou dost freely quaff-a, 

Sing 

Fhng, 
Be as merry as a king. 
And sound a lusty laugh-a." ^ 

13. Much of the conversation during dinner turned upon 
family topics, to which I was a stranger. There was, how- 
ever, a great deal of rallying of Master Simon about some gay 
widow, with whom he was accused of having a flirtation. 
This attack was commenced by the ladies; but it was con- 
tinued throughout the dinner by the fat-headed old gentle- 
man next the parson, with the persevering assiduity of a slow 
hound; being one of those long-winded jokers, who, though 
rather dull at starting game, are unrivalled for their talents 
in hunting it down. At every pause in the general conversa- 
tion, he renewed his bantering in pretty much the same terms ; 
winking hard at me with both eyes, whenever he gave Master 
Simon what he considered a home thrust. The latter, indeed, 
seemed fond of being teased on the subject, as old bachelors 
are apt to be ; and he took occasion to inform me, in an under- 
tone, that the lady in question was a prodigiously fine woman, 
and drove her own curricle. 

14. The dinner-time passed away in this flow of innocent 
hilarity, and, though the old hall may have resounded in its 
time with many a scene of broader rout and revel, yet I doubt 
whether it ever witnessed more honest and genuine enjoy- 
ment. How easy it is for one benevolent being to diffuse 
pleasure around him ; and how truly is a kind heart a fountain 
of gladness, making everything in its vicinity to freshen into 
smiles ! the joyous disposition of the worthy Squire was per- 
fectly contagious; he was happy himself, and disposed to 
make all the world happy ; and the little eccentricities of his 

^ From Poor Robin's Almanac. 



84 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

humor did but season, in a manner, the sweetness of his 
philanthropy. 

15. When the ladies had retired, the conversation, as usual, 
became still more animated ; many good things were broached 
which had been thought of during dinner, but which would 
not exactly do for a lady's ear; and though I cannot posi- 
tively affirm that there was much wit uttered, yet I have cer- 
tainly heard many contests of rare wit produce much less 
laughter. Wit, after all, is a mighty tart, pungent ingredient, 
and much too acid for some stomachs; but honest good- 
humor is the oil and wine of a merry meeting, and there is no 
jovial companionship equal to that where the jokes are rather 
small, and the laughter abundant. 

16. The Squire told several long stories of early college 
pranks and adventures, in some of which the parson had been 
a sharer; though in looking at the latter, it required some 
effort of imagination to figure such a little dark anatomy of a 
man into the perpetrator of a madcap gambol. Indeed, the 
two college chums presented pictures of what men may be 
made by their different lots in life. The Squire had left the 
university to live lustily on his paternal domains, in the vigor- 
ous enjoyment of prosperity and sunshine, and had flourished 
on to a hearty and florid old age ; whilst the poor parson, on 
the contrary, had dried and withered away, among dusty 
tomes, in the silence and shadows of his study. Still there 
seemed to be a spark of almost extinguished fire, feebly glim- 
mering in the bottom of his soul ; and as the Squire hinted at 
a sly story of the parson and a pretty milkmaid, whom they 
once met on the banks of the Isis, the old gentleman made an 
"alphabet of faces," which, as far as I could decipher his 
physiognomy, I verily believe was indicative of laughter ; — 
indeed, I have rarely met with an old gentleman that took 
absolute offence at the imputed gallantries of his youth. 

17. I found the tide of wine and wassail fast gaining on the 
dry land of sober judgment. The company grew merrier and 
louder as their jokes grew duller. Master Simon was in as 
chirping a humor as a grasshopper filled with dew; his old 
songs grew of a warmer complexion, and he began to talk 



THE CHRISTMAS DINNER 85 

maudlin about the widow. He even gave a long song about 
the wooing of a widow which he informed me he had gath- 
ered from an excellent black-letter work, entitled "Cupid's 
Solicitor for Love/' containing store of good advice for bache- 
lors, and which he promised to lend me. The first verse was 
to this effect : — 

"He that will woo a widow must not dally, 

He must make hay while the sun doth shine ; 
He must not stand with her, shall I, shall I ? 
But boldly say, Widow, thou must be mine." 

18. This song inspired the fat-headed old gentleman, who 
made several attempts to tell a rather broad story out of Joe 
Miller, that was pat to the purpose ; but he always stuck in 
the middle, everybody recollecting the latter part excepting 
himself. The parson, too, began to show the effects of good 
cheer, having gradually settled down into a doze, and his wig 
sitting most suspiciously on one side. Just at this juncture 
we were summoned to the drawing-room, and, I suspect, at 
the private instigation of mine host, whose joviality seemed 
always tempered with a proper love of decorum. 

19. After the dinner-table was removed, the hall was given 
up to the younger members of the family, who, prompted 
to all kind of noisy mirth by the Oxonian and Master Simon, 
made its old walls ring with their merriment, as they played 
at romping games. I dehght in witnessing the gambols of 
children, and particularly at this happy holiday season, and 
could not help stealing out of the drawing-room on hearing 
one of their peals of laughter. I found them at the game of 
bhndman's-buff. Master Simon, who was the leader of their 
revels, and seemed on all occasions to fulfil the office of that 
ancient potentate, the Lord of Misrule,^ was blinded in the 
midst of the hall. The little beings were as busy about him 
as the mock fairies about Falstaff; pinching him, plucking 
at the skirts of his coat, and tickUng him with straws. One 

^ " At Christmasse there was in the Kinge's house, wheresoever hee 
was lodged, a lorde of misrule, or mayster of merie disportes, and the 
like had ye in the house of every nobleman of honor, or good wor- 
shippe, were he spirituall or temporall." — Stowe. 



86 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

fine blue-eyed girl of about thirteen, with her flaxen hair all 
in beautiful confusion, her frolic face in a glow, her frock half 
torn off her shoulders, a complete picture of a romp, was the 
chief tormentor; and, from the slyness with which Master 
Simon avoided the smaller game, and hemmed this wild little 
nymph in corners, and obliged her to jump shrieking over 
chairs, I suspected the rogue of being not a whit more blinded 
than was convenient. 

20. When I returned to the drawing-room, I found the 
company seated round the fire, listening to the parson, who 
was deeply ensconced in a high-backed oaken chair, the work 
of some cunning artificer of yore, which had been brought 
from the library for his particular accommodation. From 
this venerable piece of furniture, with which his shadowy 
figure and dark weazen face so admirably accorded, he was 
dealing out strange accounts of the popular superstitions and 
legends of the surrounding country, with which he had be- 
come acquainted in the course of his antiquarian researches. 
I am half inclined to think that the old gentleman was him- 
self somewhat tinctured with superstition, as men are very 
apt to be who live a recluse and studious life in a sequestered 
part of the country and pore over black-letter tracts, so often 
filled with the marvellous and supernatural. He gave us 
several anecdotes of the fancies of the neighboring peasantry, 
concerning the effigy of the crusader, which lay on the tomb 
by the church-altar. As it was the only monument of the 
kind in that part of the country, it had always been regarded 
with feelings of superstition by the good wives of the village. 
It was said to get up from the tomb and walk the rounds of the 
churchyard in stormy nights, particularly when it thundered ; 
and one old woman, whose cottage bordered on the church- 
yard, had seen it through the windows of the church, when the 
moon shone, slowly pacing up and down the aisles. It was 
the belief that some wrong had been left unredressed by the 
deceased, or. some treasure hidden, which kept the spirit in 
a state of trouble and restlessness. Some talked of gold and 
jewels buried in the tomb, over which the spectre kept watch ; 
and there was a story current of a sexton in old times, who en- 



THE CHRISTMAS DINNER 87 

deavored to break his way to the coffin at night, but, just 
as he reached it, received a violent blow from the marble hand 
of the effigy, which stretched him senseless on the pavement. 
These tales were often laughed at by some of the sturdier 
among the rustics, yet, when night came on, there w^ere many 
of the stoutest unbelievers that were shy of venturing alone 
in the footpath that led across the churchyard. 

21. From these and other anecdotes that followed, the 
crusader appeared to be the favorite hero of ghost-stories 
throughout the vicinity. His picture, which hung up in the 
hall, was thought by the servants to have something super- 
natural about it ; for they remarked that, in whatever part of 
the hall you went, the eyes of the warrior were still fixed on 
you. The old porter's wife, too, at the lodge, who had been 
born and brought up in the family, and was a great gossip 
among the maid-servants, affirmed, that in her young days 
she had often heard say, that on Midsummer eve, when it was 
well known all kinds of ghosts, goblins, and fairies become 
visible and walk abroad, the crusader used to mount his horse, 
come down from his picture, ride about the house, down the 
avenue, and so to the church to visit the tomb; on which 
occasion the church-door most civilly swung open of itself; 
not that he needed it, for he rode through closed gates and 
even stone walls, and had been seen by one of the dairy- 
maids to pass between two bars of the great park-gate, making 
himself as thin as a sheet of paper. 

22. All these superstitions I found had been very much 
countenanced by the Squire, who, though not superstitious 
himself, was very fond of seeing others so. He listened to 
every goblin-tale of the neighboring gossips with infinite 
gravity, and held the porter's wife in high favor on account of 
her talent for the marvellous. He was himself a great reader 
of old legends and romances, and often lamented that he 
could not believe in them ; for a superstitious person, he 
thought, must live in a kind of fairy land. 

23. Whilst we were all attention to the parson's stories, our 
ears were suddenly assailed by a burst of heterogeneous 
sounds from the hall, in which were mingled something hke 



88 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

the clang of rude minstrelsy, with the uproar of many small 
voices and girlish laughter. The door suddenly flew open, 
and a train came trooping into the room, that might almost 
have been mistaken for the breaking up of the court of Fairy. 
That indefatigable spirit. Master Simon, in the faithful dis- 
charge of his duties as lord of misrule, had conceived the idea 
of a Christmas mummery or masking; and having called in 
to his assistance the Oxonian and the young officer, who were 
equally ripe for anything that should occasion romping and 
merriment, they had carried it into instant effect. The old 
housekeeper had been consulted ; the antique clothes-presses 
and wardrobes rummaged, and made to yield up the relics 
of finery that had not seen the light for several generations; 
the younger part of the company had been privately convened 
from the parlor and hall, and the whole had been bedizened 
out, into a burlesque imitation of an antique mask.^ 

24. Master Simon led the van, as "Ancient Christmas," 
quaintly apparelled in a ruff, a short cloak, which had very 
much the aspect of one of the old housekeeper's petticoats, 
and a hat that might have served for a village steeple, and 
must indubitably have figured in the days of the Covenanters. 
From under this his nose curved boldly forth, flushed with a 
frost-bitten bloom, that seemed the very trophy of a Decem- 
ber blast. He was accompanied by the blue-eyed romp, 
dished up as " Dame Mince Pie," in the venerable magnificence 
of a faded brocade, long stomacher, peaked hat and high- 
heeled shoes. The young officer appeared as Robin Hood, in 
a sporting dress of Kendal green, and a foraging cap with a 
gold tassel. 

25. The costume, to be sure, did not bear testimony to deep 
research, and there was an evident eye to the picturesque, 
natural to a young gallant in the presence of his mistress. 
The fair Julia hung on his arm in a pretty rustic dress, as 
''Maid Marian." The rest of the train had been metamor- 

^ Maskings or raummeries were favorite sports at Christmas in old 
times ; and the wardrobes at halls and manor-houses were often laid 
under contribution to furnish dresses and fantastic disguisings. I 
strongly suspect Master Simon to have taken the idea of his from Ben 
Jonson's "Masque of Christmas." 



THE CHRISTMAS DINNER 89 

phosed in various ways : the girls trussed up in the finery of 
the ancient belles of the Bracebridge line, and the striplings 
bewhiskered with burnt cork, and gravely clad in broad skirts, 
hanging sleeves, and full-bottomed wigs, to represent the 
character of Roast Beef, Plum Pudding, and other worthies 
celebrated in ancient maskings. The whole was under the 
control of the Oxonian, in the appropriate character of Mis- 
rule ; and I observed that he exercised rather a mischievous 
sway with his wand over the smaller personages of the 
pageant. 

26. The irruption of his motley crew, with beat of drum, 
according to ancient custom, was the consummation of uproar 
and merriment. Master Simon covered himself with glory 
by the statehness with which, as Ancient Christmas, he walked 
a minuet with the peerless, though giggling, Dame Mince Pie. 
It was followed by a dance of all the characters, which, from 
its medley of costumes, seemed as though the old family por- 
traits had skipped down from their frames to join in the sport. 
Different centuries were figuring at cross hands and right and 
left; the dark ages were cutting pirouettes and rigadoons; 
and the days of Queen Bess jigging merrily down the middle, 
through a line of succeeding generations. 

27. The worthy Squire contemplated these fantastic sports, 
and this resurrection of his old wardrobe, with the simple relish 
of childish delight. He stood chuckling and rubbing his 
hands, and scarcely hearing a word the parson said, notwith- 
standing that the latter was discoursing most authentically 
on the ancient and stately dance at the Paon, or peacock, 
from which he conceived the minuet to be derived.^ For my 
part, I was in a continual excitement from the varied scenes 
of whim and innocent gayety passing before me. It was in- 
spiring to see wild-eyed frolic and warm-hearted hospitality 
breaking out from among the chills and glooms of winter, and 

^ Sir John Hawkins, speaking of the dance called the Pavon, from 
pavo, a peacock, says : " It is a grave and majestic dance ; the method 
of dancing it anciently was by gentlemen dressed with caps and 
swords, by those of the long robe in their gowns, by the peers in their 
mantles, and by the ladies in gowns with long trains, the motion 
whereof in dancing resembled that of a peacock." — History of Music. 



90 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

old age throwing off his apathy, and catching once more the 
freshness of youthful enjoyment. I felt also an interest in 
the scene, from the consideration that these fleeting customs 
were posting fast into oblivion, and that this was, perhaps, 
the only family in England in which the whole of them was 
still punctiliously observed. There was a quaintness, too, 
mingled with all this revelry, that gave it a peculiar zest : it 
was suited to the time and place ; and as the old manor-house 
almost reeled with mirth and wassail, it seemed echoing back 
the joviahty of long departed years. ^ 

28. But enough of Christmas and its gambols; it is time 
for me to pause in this garrulity. Methinks I hear the ques- 
tions asked by my graver readers, "To what purpose is all 
this ; how is the world to be made wiser by this talk ? " Alas ! 
is there not wisdom enough extant for the instruction of the 
world? And if not, are there not thousands of abler pens 
laboring for its improvement ? — It is so much pleasanter to 
please than to instruct, — to play the companion rather than 
the preceptor. 

29. What, after all, is the mite of wisdom that I could 
throw into the mass of knowledge ; or how am I sure that my 
sagest deductions may be safe guides for the opinions of 
others ? But in writing to amuse, if I fail, the only evil is in 
my own disappointment. If, however, I can by any lucky 
chance, in these days of evil, rub out one wrinkle from the 
brow of care, or beguile the heavy heart of one moment of 
sorrow ; if I can now and then penetrate through the gather- 
ing film of misanthropy, prompt a benevolent view of hu- 
man nature, and make my reader more in good-humor with 
his fellow-beings and himself, surely, surely, I shall not then 
have written entirely in vain. 



^ At the time of the first pubhcation of this paper, the picture of an 
old-fashioned Christmas in the country was pronounced by some as 
out of date. The author had afterwards an opportunity of witnessing 
almost all the customs above described, existing in unexpected vigor 
in the skirts of Derbyshire and Yorkshire, where he passed the Christ- 
mas holidays. The reader will find some notice of them in the 
author's account of his sojourn at Newstead Abbey. 



LITTLE BRITAIN 

[Comment. — It is easy to imagine that the gentleman who 
passed several years in the old wainscoted chamber on the 
second floor of "one of the smallest but oldest edifices in this 
district" is Irving himself, and the experiences of the visit in 
August, 1817, when he found the town quite deserted, may 
easily have served to fill the imagined period of residence. He 
writes, " Life and Letters," I., 275, " I found, however, sufficient 
objects of curiosity and interest to keep me in a worry; and 
amused myself by exploring various parts of the city, which in 
the dirt and gloom of winter would be almost inaccessible." 

The essay illustrates in a striking manner Irving 's habit of 
localizing the lore gleaned from old books. In "Little Britain," 
he is striving to turn the shadow on the dial backward by the 
space of several centuries, and makes believe with himself that 
from his room in the "heart's core" of the old city he witnesses 
a manner of life the complexion of which belongs to past gener- 
ations. He sees in daily occurrences survivals of old manners, 
and shares his neighbor's pride in the former splendors of this 
ancient quarter. The "city wonders," the Lord Mayor's show, 
the lions in the Tower, the giants of Guildhall seem the "won- 
ders of the world." 

He preserves, however, the character of an onlooker, albeit 
of one who, in course of time, has "worked his way into all the 
concerns and secrets of the place." In the character of an 
antiquarian he is best able to describe those customs and ob- 
servances which have survived the changes of many years. 
This also supplies a point of view which accounts for his own 
interest in everything old, whether relic, or superstitious ob- 
servance; and in turn, as in the Christmas essays, he interests 
the reader through his own personality. The form of the com- 
position, as suits the adventure and the character, is less that 
of a narrative than in the series illustrating holiday customs. 
Instead of incidents or characters we have observations and 
reflections. Even the account of the rivalries of the Lambs 
and the Trotters is so generalized as to have little personal 
interest. The disguise is too thin, and generalizations upon 
the crude and vulgar aspirations of a shopkeeper's women folk 
seem trite and ineffective as a suggestion of the manner in 
which an old-fashioned community gradually gives up ancient 
customs and assumes the characteristics of modern times. 
It serves the author's purpose, however, for it draws the reader 
back from the old city in which he had lost himself and enables 
the guide to bow himself out at the very moment when he is 
in danger of exhausting the patience of his admirers. D.] 

91 



92 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

What I write is most true. ... I have a whole booke of cases 
lying by me which if I should sette foorth, some grave auntients 
(within the hearing of Bow bell) would be out of charity with me. 

— Nashe. 

1. In the centre of the great city of London hes a small 
neighborhood, consisting of a cluster of narrow streets and 
courts, of very venerable and debilitated houses, which goes 
by the name of Little Britain. Christ Church School and 
St. Bartholomew's Hospital bound it on the west ; Smithfield 
and Long Lane on the north; Aldersgate, like an arm of 
the sea, divides it from the eastern part of the city; whilst 
the yawning gulf of Bull-and-Mouth Street separates it from 
Butcher Lane, and the regions of Newgate. Over this little 
territory, thus bounded and designated, the great dome of 
St. Paul's, swelling above the intervening houses of Pater- 
noster Row, Amen Corner, and Ave Maria Lane, looks down 
with an air of motherly protection. 

2. This quarter derives its appellation from having been, 
in ancient times, the residence of the Dukes of Brittany. As 
London increased, however, rank and fashion rolled off to the 
west, and trade creeping on at their heels, took possession of 
their deserted abodes. For some time Little Britain became 
the great mart of learning, and was peopled by the busy and 
prolific race of booksellers ; these also gradually deserted it, 
and, emigrating beyond the great strait of Newgate Street, 
settled down in Paternoster Row and St. Paul's Churchyard, 
where they continue to increase and multiply even at the 
present day. 

3. But though thus falling into decline. Little Britain still 
bears traces of its former splendor. There are several houses 
ready to tumble down, the fronts of which are magnificently 
enriched with old oaken carvings of hideous faces, unknown 
birds, beasts, and fishes : and fruits and flowers which it would 
perplex a naturalist to classify. There are also, in Aldersgate 
Street, certain remains of what were once spacious and lordly 
family mansions, but which have in latter days been sub- 
divided into several tenements. Here may often be found 
the family of a petty tradesman, with its trumpery furniture, 
burrowing among the relics of antiquated finery, in great 



94 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

rambling, time-stained apartments, with fretted ceilings, 
gilded cornices, and enormous marble fireplaces. The lanes 
and courts also contain many smaller houses, not on so grand 
a scale, but, like your small ancient gentry, sturdily main- 
taining their claims to equal antiquity. These have their 
gable ends to the street; great bow-windows, with diamond 
panes set in lead, grotesque carvings, and low arched door- 
ways.^ 

4. In this most venerable and sheltered little nest have I 
passed several quiet years of existence, comfortably lodged 
in the second floor of one of the smallest but oldest edifices. 
My sitting-room is an old wainscoted chamber, with small 
panels, and set off with a miscellaneous array of furniture. 
I have a particular respect for three or four high-backed claw- 
footed chairs, covered with tarnished brocade, which bear 
the marks of having seen better days, and have doubtless 
figured in some of the old palaces of Little Britain. They 
seem to me to keep together, and to look down with sovereign 
contempt upon their leathern-bottomed neighbors : as I 
have seen decayed gentry carry a high head among the ple- 
beian society with which they were reduced to associate. 
The whole front of my sitting-room is taken up with a bow- 
window, on the panes of which are recorded the names of 
previous occupants for many generations, mingled with 
scraps of very indifferent gentlemanlike poetry, written in 
characters which I can scarcely decipher, and which extol 
the charms of many a beauty of Little Britain, who has long, 
long since bloomed, faded, and passed away. As I am an idle 
personage, with no apparent occupation, and pay my bill 
regularly every week, I am looked upon as the only indepen- 
dent gentleman of the neighborhood ; and, being curious to 
learn the internal state of a community so apparently shut 
up within itself, I have managed to work my way into all 
the concerns and secrets of the place. 

5. Little Britain may truly be called the heart's core of 

^ It is evident that the author of this interesting communication 
has included, in his general title of Little Britain, many of those little 
lanes and courts that belong immediately to Cloth Fair. 



LITTLE BRITAIN 



95 



the city, the stronghold of true John Bullism. It is a frag- 
ment of London as it was in its better days, with its antiquated 
folks and fashions. Here flourish in great preservation many 
of the holiday games and customs of yore. The inhabitants 
most religiously eat pancakes on Shrove Tuesday, hot-cross- 
buns on Good Friday, and roast goose at Michaelmas; they 
send love-letters on Valentine's Day, burn the pope on the 
fifth of November, and kiss all the girls under the mistletoe 




The Guildhall, London, 1820 



at Christmas. Roast beef and plum-pudding are also held 
in superstitious veneration, and port and sherry maintain 
their grounds as the only true English wines ; all others being 
considered vile outlandish beverages. 

6. Little Britain has its long catalogue of city wonders, 
which its inhabitants consider the wonders of the world ; such 
as the great bell of St. Paul's which sours all the beer when it 
tolls; the figures that strike the hours at St. Dunstan's clock- 



96 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

the Monument; the Hons in the Tower; and the wooden 
giants in Guildhall. They still believe in dreams and fortune 
telling, and an old woman that lives in Bull-and-Mouth Street 
makes a tolerable subsistence by detecting stolen goods, and 
promising the girls good husbands. They are apt to be ren- 
dered uncomfortable by comets and eclipses ; if a dog howls 
dolefully at night, it is looked upon as a sure sign of a death 
in the place. There are even many ghost-stories current, 
particularly concerning the old-mansion houses; in several 
of which it is said strange sights are sometimes seen. 
Lords and ladies, the former in full-bottomed wigs, hanging 
sleeves, and swords, the latter in lappets, stays, hoops, and 
brocade, have been seen walking up and down the great waste 
chambers, on moon-light nights ; and are supposed to be the 
shades of the ancient proprietors in their court-dresses. 

7. Little Britain has likewise its sages and great men. 
One of the most important of the former is a tall, dry old 
gentleman, of the name of Skryme, who keeps a small apothe- 
cary's shop. He has a cadaverous countenance, full of 
cavities and projections, with a brown circle round each eye 
like a pair of horned spectacles. He is much thought of by 
the old women, who consider him as a kind of conjurer, be- 
cause he has two or three stuffed alligators hanging up in his 
shop, and several snakes in bottles. He is a great reader of 
almanacs and newspapers, and is much given to pore over 
alarming accounts of plots, conspiracies, fires, earthquakes, 
and volcanic eruptions, which last phenomena he considers 
as signs of, the times. He has always some dismal tale of 
the kind to deal out to his customers with their doses, and 
thus at the same time puts both soul and body into an up- 
roar. He is a great believer in omens and predictions, and has 
the prophecies of Robert Nixon and Mother Shipton by heart. 
No man can make so much out of an eclipse, or even an un- 
usually dark day, and he shook the tail of the last comet over 
the heads of his customers and disciples until they were nearly 
frightened out of their wits. He has lately got hold of a popular 
legend or prophecy, on which he has been unusually eloquent. 
There has been a saying current among the ancient sibyls 



LITTLE BRITAIN 97 

who treasure up these things, that when the grass-hopper on 
the top of the Exchange shook hands with the dragon on the 
top of Bow Church steeple fearful events would take place. 
This strange conjunction, it seems, has as strangely come to 
pass. The same architect has been engaged lately on the 
repairs of the cupola of the Exchange, and the steeple of Bow 
Church; and, fearful to relate, the dragon and the grass- 
hopper actually lie, cheek by jole, in the yard of his workshop. 

8. " Others, '^ as Mr. Skryme is accustomed to say, "may 
go star-gazing, and look for conjunctions in the heavens, but 
here is a conjunction on the earth, near at home, and under 
our own eyes, which surpasses all the signs and calculations 
of astrologers.'' Since these portentous weathercocks have 
thus laid their heads together, wonderful events had already 
occurred. The good old king, notwithstanding that he had 
lived eighty-two years, had all at once given up the ghost; 
another king had mounted the throne ; a royal duke had died 
suddenly, — another, in France, had been murdered ; there 
had been radical meetings in all parts of the kingdom; the 
bloody scenes at Manchester ; the great plot in Cato Street ; — 
and, above all, the queen had returned to England ! All these 
sinister events are recounted by Mr. Skryme, with a myste- 
rious look, and a dismal shake of the head ; and being taken 
with his drugs, and associated in the minds of his auditors 
with stuffed sea-monsters, bottled serpents, and his own 
visage, which is a title-page of tribulation, they have spread 
great gloom through the minds of the people of Little Britain. 
They shake their heads whenever they go by Bow Church, 
and observe, that they never expected any good to come of 
taking down that steeple, which in old times told nothing but 
glad tidings, as the history of Whittington and his Cat bears 
witness. 

9. The rival oracle of Little Britain is a substantial cheese- 
monger, who lives in a fragment of one of the old family 
mansions, and is as magnificently lodged as a round-bellied 
mite in the midst of one of his own Cheshires. Indeed, he 
is a man of no little standing and importance ; and his re- 
nown extends through Huggin Lane, and Lad Lane, and even 



98 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

unto Alderm anbury. His opinion is very much taken in 
affairs of state, having read the Sunday papers for the last 
half century, together with the "Gentleman's Magazine," 
Rapin's "History of England," and the "Naval Chronicle." 
His head is stored with invaluable maxims which have borne 
the test of time and use for centuries. It is his firm opinion 
that "it is a moral impossible," so long as England is true 
to herself, that anything can shake her ; and he has much to 
say on the subject of the national debt; which, somehow or 
other, he proves to be a great national bulwark and blessing. 
He passed the greater part of his life in the purlieus of Little 
Britain, until of late years, when, having become rich, and 
grown into the dignity of a Sunday cane, be begins to take his 
pleasure and see the world. He has therefore made several 
excursions to Hampstead, Highgate, and other neighbor- 
ing towns, where he has passed whole afternoons in 
looking back upon the metropolis through a telescope, and 
endeavoring to descry the steeple of St. Bartholomew's. 
Not a stage-coachman of Bull-and-Mouth Street but touches 
his hat as he passes ; and he is considered quite a patron at the 
coach-ofhce of the Goose and Gridiron, St. Paul's Churchyard. 
His family have been very urgent for him to make an expedi- 
tion to Margate, but he has great doubts of those new gim- 
cracks, the steamboats, and indeed thinks himself too ad- 
vanced in life to undertake sea-voyages. 

10. Little Britain has occasionally its factions and divi- 
sions, and party spirit ran very high at one time in conse- 
quence of two rival Burial Societies being set up in the place. 
One held its meeting at the Swan and Horse Shoe, and was 
patronized by the cheesemonger; the other at the Cock and 
Crown, under the auspices of the apothecary: it is needless 
to say that the latter was the most flourishing. I have passed 
an evening or two at each, and have acquired much valuable 
information, as to the best mode of being buried, the compar- 
ative merits of churchyards, together with divers hints on the 
subject of patent-iron coffins. I have heard the question dis- 
cussed in all its bearings as to the legality of prohibiting the 
latter on 9,ccount of their durability. The feuds occasioned 



LITTLE BRITAIN 99 

by these societies have happily died of late ; but they were for 
a long time prevailing themes of controversy, the people of 
Little Britain being extremely solicitous of funereal honors 
and of lying comfortably in their graves. 

11. Besides these two funeral societies there is a third of 
quite a different cast, which tends to throw the sunshine of 
good-humor over the whole neighborhood. It meets once 
a week at a little old fashioned house, kept by a jolly publican 
of the name of Wagstaff, and bearing for insignia a resplendent 
half-moon, with a most seductive bunch of grapes. The 
old edifice is covered with inscriptions to catch the eye of the 
thirsty wayfarer; such as "Truman, Hanbury, and Co.'s 
Entire," "Wine, Rum, and Brandy Vaults,'' "Old Tom, Rum 
and Compounds, etc.'' This indeed has been a temple of 
Bacchus and Momus from time immemorial. It has always 
been in the family of the Wagstaffs, so that its history is 
tolerably preserved by the present landlord. It was much 
frequented by the gallants and cavalieros of the reign of 
Elizabeth, and was looked into now and then by the wits of 
Charles the Second's day. But what Wagstaff principally 
prides himself upon is, that Henry the Eighth, in one of his 
nocturnal rambles, broke the head of one of his ancestors with 
his famous walking-staff. This however is considered as 
rather a dubious and vain-glorious boast of the landlord. 

12. The club which now holds its weekly sessions here goes 
by the name of "The Roaring Lads of Little Britain." They 
abound in old catches, glees, and choice stories, that are tra- 
ditional in the place, and not to be met with in any other 
part of the metropolis. There is a madcap undertaker who 
is inimitable at a merry song ; but the life of the club, and 
indeed the prime wit of Little Britain, is bully Wagstaff him- 
self. His ancestors were all wags before him, and he has in- 
herited with the inn a large stock of songs and jokes, which 
go with it from generation to generation as heirlooms. He 
is a dapper little fellow, with bandy legs and pot-belly, a red 
face, with moist merry eye, and a little shock of gray hair 
behind. At the opening of every club-night he is called in to 
sing his "Confession of Faith," which is the famous old druik- 



100 



THE SKETCH-BOOK 



ing-trowl from "Gammer Gurton's Needle." He sings it, 
to be sure, with many variations, as he received it from his 
father's hps ; for it had been a standing favorite at the Half- 
Moon and Bunch of Grapes ever since it was written : nay, 
he affirms that his predecessors have often had the honor of 
singing it before the nobility and gentry at Christmas mum- 
meries, when Little Britain was in all its glory. ^ 

13. It would do one's heart good to hear, on a club night, 
the shouts of merriment, the snatches of song, and now and 
then the choral bursts of half a dozen discordant voices, which 




The Mansion House, Residence of the Lord Mayor 



issue from this jovial mansion. At such times the street 
is lined with listeners, who enjoy a delight equal to that of 
gazing into a confectioner's window, or snuffing up the steams 
of a cookshop. 

14. There are two annual events which produce great stir 
and sensation in Little Britain ; these are St. Bartholomew's 
fair, and the Lord Mayor's day. During the time of the fair, 
which is held in the adjoining regions of Smithfield, there is 

^ As mine host of the Half-Moon's "Confession of Faith" may not 
be familiar to the majority of readers, and as it is a specim^en of the 



LITTLE BRITAIK 



101 



nothing going on but gossiping and gadding about. The late 
quiet streets of Little Britain are overrun with an irruption of 
strange figures and faces ; every tavern is a scene of rout and 
revel. The fiddle and the song are heard from the tap-room, 
morning, noon, and night ; and at each window may be seen 

current songs of Little Britain, I subjoin it in its original orthography. 
I would observe, that the whole club always join in the chorus with a 
fearful thumping on the table and clattering of pewter pots. 

I cannot eate but lytle meate, 

My stoHiacke is not good. 
But sure I thinke that I can drinke 

With him that weares a hood. 
Though I go bare, take ye no care, 

I nothing am a colde, 
I stuff my skyn so full within. 

Of joly good ale and olde. 
Chorus. Backe and syde go bare, go bare. 

Booth foote and hand go colde. 
But belly, God send thee good ale ynoughe 

Whether it be new or olde. 

I have no rost, but a nut brawne toste, 

And a crab laid in the f yre ; 
A little breade shall do me steade, ' 

Much breade I not desyre. 
No frost nor snow, nor winde, I trowe, 

Can hurte mee, if I wolde, 
I am so wrapt and throwly lapt 

Of joly good ale and olde. 
Chorus. Backe and syde 'go bare, go bare, etc. 

And Tyb my wife, that, as her lyfe, 

Loveth well good ale to seeke. 
Full oft drynkes shee, tyll ye may see, 

The teares run downe her cheeke. 
Then doth she trowle to me the bowle, 

Even as a mault-worme sholde. 
And sayth, sweete harte, I took my parte 

Of this joly good ale and olde. 
Chorus. Back and syde go bare, go bare, etc. 

Now let them drynke, tyll they nod and winke 

Even as goode fellowes sholde doe. 
They shall not mysse to have the blisse. 

Good ale doth bring men to ; 
And all poore soules that have scowred bowles. 

Or have them lustily trolde, 
God save the lyves of them and their wives, 

Whether they be yong or olde. 
Chorus. Backe and syde go bare, go bare, etc. 



102 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

some group of boon companions, with half-shut eyes, hats 
on one side, pipe in mouth, and tankard in hand, fondhng, and 
prosing, and singing maudhn songs over their hquor. Even 
the sober decorum of private famihes, which I must say is 
rigidly kept up at other times among my neighbors, is no 
proof against this Saturnalia. There is no such thing as keep- 
ing maid-servants within doors. Their brains are absolutely 
set madding with Punch and the Puppet-Show ; the Flying 
Horses; Signior Polito; the Fire-Eater; the celebrated Mr. 
Paap ; and the Irish Giant. The children, too, lavish all their 
holiday money in toys and gilt gingerbread, and fill the house 
with the Lilliputian din of drums, trumpets, and penny- 
whistles. 

15. But the Lord Mayor's day is the great anniversary. 
The Lord Mayor is looked up to by the inhabitants of Little 
Britain as the greatest potentate upon earth; his gilt coach 
with six horses as the summit of human splendor; and his 
procession, with all the Sheriffs and Aldermen in his train, 
as the grandest of earthly pageants. How they exult in the 
idea, that the King himself dare not enter the city, without 
first knocking at the gate of Temple Bar, and asking per- 
mission of the Lord Mayor : for if he did, heaven and earth ! 
there is no knowing what might be the consequence. The 
man in armor who rides before the Lord Mayor, and is the 
city champion, has orders to cut down everybody that offends 
against the dignity of the city; and then there is the little 
man with a velvet porringer on his head, who sits at the win- 
dow of the state-coach, and holds the city sword, as long as 
a pike-staff — Odd's blood ! If he once draws that sword. 
Majesty itself is not safe ! 

16. Under the protection of this mighty potentate, there- 
fore, the good people of Little Britain sleep in peace. Temple 
Bar is an effectual barrier against all interior foes ; and as to 
foreign invasion, the Lord Mayor has but to throw himself 
into the Tower, call in the train-bands, and put the standing 
army of Beef-eaters under arms, and he may bid defiance to 
the world ! 

17. Thus wrapped up in its own concerns, its own habits, 



104 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

and its own opinions, Little Britain has long flourished as a 
sound heart to this great fungous metropolis. I have pleased 
myself with considering it as a chosen spot, where the prin- 
ciples of sturdy John Bullism were garnered up, like seed- 
corn, to renew the national character, when it had run to 
waste and degeneracy. I have rejoiced also in the general 
spirit of harmony that prevailed throughout it; for though 
there might now and then be a few clashes of opinion between 
the adherents of the cheesemonger and the apothecary, and 
an occasional feud between the burial societies, yet these were 
but transient clouds, and soon passed away. The neighbors 
met with good-will, parted with a shake of the hand, and 
never abused each other except behind their backs. 

18. I could give rare descriptions of snug junketing parties 
at which I have been present ; where we played at All-Fours, 
Pope-Joan, Tom-come-tickle-me, and other choice old games ; 
and where we sometimes had a good old English country 
dance to the tune of Sir Roger de Coverley. Once a year also 
the neighbors w^ould gather together, and go on a gypsy party 
to Epping Forest. It would have done any man's heart good 
to see the merriment that took place here as we banqueted 
on the grass under the trees. How we made the woods ring 
with bursts of laughter at the songs of little Wagstaff and the 
merry undertaker ! After dinner, too, the young folks would 
play at blind-man's-buff and hide-and-seek; and it was 
amusing to see them tangled among the briers, and to hear 
a fine romping girl now and then squeak from among the 
bushes. The elder folks would gather round the cheese- 
monger and the apothecary, to hear them talk politics ; for 
they generally brought out a newspaper in their pockets, to 
pass away time in the country. They would now and then, to 
be sure, get a little warm in argument ; but their disputes were 
always adjusted by reference to a worthy old umbrella-maker in 
a double chin, who, never exactly comprehending the subject, 
managed somehow or other to decide in favor of both parties. 

19. All empires, however, says some philosopher or his- 
torian, are doomed to changes and revolutions. Luxury 
and innovation creep in ; factions arise and families now and 



LITTLE BRITAIN 



105 



then spring up, whose ambition and intrigues throw the whole 
system into confusion. Thus in latter days has the tranquil- 
lity of Little Britain been grievously disturbed, and its golden 
simplicity of manners threatened with total subversion, by 
the aspiring family of a retired butcher. 

20. The family of the Lambs had long been among the 
most thriving and popular in the neighborhood; the Miss 
Lambs were the belles of Little Britain, and everybody was 




Temple Bar 
Pulled down in 1877 



pleased when Old Lamb had made money enough to shut 
up shop, and put his name on a brass plate on his door. In 
an evil hour, however, one of the Miss Lambs had the honor 
of being a lady in attendance on the Lady Mayoress, at her 
great annual ball, on which occasion she wore three towering 
ostrich feathers on her head. The family never got over it ; 
they were immediately smitten with a passion for high life ; 
set up a one-horse carriage, put a bit of gold lace round the 



106 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

errand-boy's hat, and have been the talk and detestation of 
the whole neighborhood ever since. They could no longer 
be induced to play at Pope-Joan or blind-man's-buff; they 
could endure no dances but quadrilles, which nobody had ever 
heard of in Little Britain; and they took to reading novels, 
talking bad French, and playing upon the piano. Their 
brother, too, who had been articled to an attorney, set up for 
a dandy and a critic, characters hitherto unknown in these 
parts; and he confounded the worthy folks exceedingly by 
talking about Kean, the opera, and the "Edinburgh Review." 

21. What was still worse, the Lambs gave a grand ball, 
to which they neglected to invite any of their old neighbors ; 
but they had a great deal of genteel company from Theobald's 
Road, Red-Lion Square, and other parts towards the west. 
There were several beaux of their brother's acquaintance from 
Gray's Inn Lane and Hatton Garden ; and not less than three 
Aldermen's ladies with their daughters. This was not to be 
forgotten or forgiven. All Little Britain was in an uproar 
with the smacking of whips, the lashing of miserable horses, 
and the rattling and the jingling of hackney coaches. The 
gossips of the neighborhood might be seen popping their 
nightcaps out at every window, w^atching the crazy vehicles 
rumble by ; and there was a knot of virulent old cronies, that 
kept a lookout from a house just opposite the retired butcher's, 
and scanned and criticized every one that knocked at the door. 

22. This dance was a cause of almost open war, and the 
whole neighborhood declared they would have nothing more 
to say to the Lambs. It is true that Mrs. Lamb, when she 
had no engagements with her quality acquaintance, would give 
little humdrum tea-junketings to some of her old cronies, 
"quite," as she would say, "in a friendly way;" and it is 
equally true that her invitations were always accepted, in 
spite of all previous vows to the contrary. Nay, the good ladies 
would sit and be delighted with the music of the Miss Lambs, 
who would condescend to strum an Irish melody for them on 
the piano; and they would listen with wonderful interest to 
Mrs. Lamb's anecdotes of Alderman Plunket's family, of 
Portsokenward, and the Miss Timberlakes, the rich heiresses 



LITTLE BRITAIN 107 

of Crutched-Friars ; but then they reheved their consciences, 
and averted the reproaches of their confederates, by canvassing 
at the next gossiping convocation everything that had passed, 
and puUing the Lambs and their route all to pieces. 

23. The only one of the family that could not be made 
fashionable was the retired butcher himself. Honest Lamb, 
in spite of the meekness of his name, was a rough, hearty 
old fellow, with the voice of a lion, a head of black hair like 
a shoe-brush, and a broad face mottled like his own beef. It 
was in vain that the daughters always spoke of him as "the 
old gentleman," addressed him as "papa,'' in tones of infinite 
softness, and endeavored to coax him into a dressing-gown 
and slippers, and other gentlemanly habits. Do what they 
might, there was no keeping down the butcher. His sturdy 
nature would break through all their glozings. He had a 
hearty vulgar good-humor that was irrepressible. His very 
jokes made his sensitive daughters shudder; and he persisted 
in wearing his blue cotton coat of a morning, dining at two 
o'clock, and having a "bit of sausage with his tea." 

24. He was doomed, however, to share the unpopularity 
of his family. He found his old comrades gradually growing 
cold and civil to him; no longer laughing at his jokes; and 
now and then throwing out a fling at "some people," and a 
hint about "quahty binding." This both nettled and per- 
plexed the honest butcher ; and his wife and daughters, with 
the consummate policy of the shrewder sex, taking advantage 
of the circumstance, at length prevailed upon him to give up 
his afternoon's pipe and tankard at Wagstaff's; to sit after 
dinner by himself, and take his pint of port — a liquor he 
detested — and to nod in his chair in solitary and dismal 
gentility. 

25. The Miss Lambs might now be seen flaunting along the 
streets in French bonnets, with unknown beaux ; and talking 
and laughing so loud that it distressed the nerves of every 
good lady within hearing. They even went so far as to at- 
tempt patronage, and actually induced a French dancing- 
master to set up in the neighborhood ; but the worthy folks 
of Little Britain took fire at it, and did so persecute the poor 



108 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

Gaul, that he was fain to pack up fiddle and dancing-pumps, 
and decamp with such i^recipitation, that he absolutely forgot 
to pay for his lodgings. 

26. I had flattered myself, at first, with the idea that all 
this fiery indignation on the part of the community was 
merely the overflowing of their zeal for good old English 
manners, and their horror of innovation; and I applauded 
the silent contempt they were so vociferous in expressing, 
for upstart pride, French fashions, and the Miss Lambs. But 
I grieve to say that I soon perceived the infection had taken 
hold; and that my neighbors, after condemning, were be- 
ginning to follow their example. I overheard my landlady 
importuning her husband to let their daughters have one 
quarter at French and music, and that they might take a few 
lessons in quadrille. I even saw, in the course of a few Sun- 
days, no less than five French bonnets, precisely like those of 
the Miss Lambs, parading about little Britain. 

27. I still had my hopes that all this folly would gradually 
die away; that the Lambs might move out of the neighbor- 
hood ; might die, or might run away with attorneys' appren- 
tices ; and that quiet and simplicity might be again restored 
to the community. But unluckily a rival power arose. An 
opulent oilman died, and left a widow with a large jointure 
and a family of buxom daughters. The young ladies had 
long been repining in secret at the parsimony of a prudent 
father, which kept down all their elegant aspirings. Their 
ambition, being now no longer restrained, broke out into a 
blaze, and they openly took the field against the family of the 
butcher. It is true that the Lambs, having had the first 
start, had naturally an advantage of them in the fashionable 
career. They could speak a little bad French, play the piano, 
dance quadrilles, and had formed high acquaintances; but 
the Trotters were not to be distanced. When the Lambs 
appeared with two feathers in their hats, the Miss Trotters 
mounted four, and of twice as fine colors. If the Lambs gave 
a dance, the Trotters were sure not to be behindhand; and 
though they might not boast of as good company, yet they 
had double the number, and were twice as merry. 



LITTLE BRITAIN 109 

28. The whole community has at length divided itself 
into fashionable factions, under the banners of these two 
families. The old games of Pope- Joan and Tom-come-tickle- 
me are entirely discarded ; there is no such thing as getting 
up an honest country-dance ; and on my attempting to kiss 
a young lady under the mistletoe last Christmas, I was in- 
dignantly repulsed; the Miss Lambs having pronounced it 
"shocking vulgar.'' Bitter rivalry has also broken out as to 
the most fashionable part of Little Britain ; the Lambs stand- 
ing up for the dignity of Cross-Keys Square, and the Trotters 
for the vicinity of St. Bartholomew's. 

29. Thus is this little territory torn by factions and internal 
dissentions, like the great empire whose name it bears; and 
what will be the result would puzzle the apothecary himself, 
with all his talent at prognostics, to determine; though I 
apprehend that it will terminate in the total downfall of 
genuine John Bullism. 

30. The immediate effects are extremely unpleasant to me. 
Being a single man, and, as I observed before, rather an idle 
good-for-nothing personage, I have been considered the only 
gentleman by profession in the place. I stand therefore in 
high favor with both parties, and have to hear all their cabinet 
councils and mutual backbitings. As I am too civil not to 
agree with the ladies on all occasions, I have committed my- 
self most horribly with both parties, by abusing their oppo- 
nents. I might manage to reconcile this to my conscience, 
which is a truly accommodating one, but I cannot to my 
apprehension — if the Lambs and Trotters ever come to a 
reconciliation, and compare notes, I am ruined ! 

31. I have determined, therefore, to beat a retreat in time, 
and am actually looking out for some other nest in this great 
city, where old English manners are still kept up; where 
French is neither eaten, drunk, danced, nor spoken ; and where 
there are no fashionable families of retired tradesmen. This 
found, I will, like a veteran rat, hasten away before I have an old 
house about my ears ; bid a long, though a sorrowful adieu to 
my present abode, and leave the rival factions of the Lambs and 
Trotters to divide the distracted empire of Little Britain. 



A SUNDAY IN LONDON^ 

1. In a preceding paper I have spoken of an English Sunday 
in the country, and its tranquilUzing effect upon the land- 
scape; but where is its sacred influence more strikingly ap- 
parent than in the very heart of that great Babel, London? 
On this sacred day, the gigantic monster is charmed into 
repose. The intolerable din and struggle of the week are at 
an end. The shops are shut. The fires of forges and manu- 
factories are extinguished ; and the sun, no longer obscured 
by murky clouds of smoke, pours down a sober, yellow 
radiance into the quiet streets. The few pedestrians we meet, 
instead of hurrying forward with anxious countenances, move 
leisurely along; their brows are smoothed from the wrinkles 
of business and care ; they have put on their Sunday looks and 
Sunday manners with their Sunday clothes, and are cleansed 
in mind as well as in person. 

2. And now the melodious clangor of bells from church- 
towers summons their several flocks to the fold. Forth issues 
from his mansion the family of the decent tradesman, the 
small children in the advance ; then the citizen and his comely 
spouse, followed by the grown-up daughters, with small 
morocco-bound prayer-books laid in the folds of their pocket- 
handkerchiefs. The housemaid looks after them from the 
window, admiring the finery of the family, and receiving, 
perhaps, a nod and smile from her young mistresses, at whose 
toilet she has assisted. 

3. Now rumbles along the carriage of some magnate of the 
city, peradventure an alderman or a sheriff; and now the 
patter of many feet announces a procession of charity scholars, 
in uniforms of antique cut, and each with a prayer-book under 
his arm. 

4. The ringing of bells is at an end; the rumbling of the 
carriage has ceased ; the pattering of feet is heard no more ; 
the flocks are folded in ancient churches, cramped up in by- 
lanes and corners of the crowded city, where the vigilant 
beadle keeps watch, like the shepherd's dog, round the thresh- 

* Part of a sketch omitted in tlie preceding editions. 
110 



A SUNDAY IN LONDON 111 

old of the sanctuary. For a time everything is hushed ; but 
soon is heard the deep, pervading sound of the organ, rolhng 
and vibrating through the empty lanes and courts ; and the 
sweet chanting of the choir making them resound with melody 
and praise. Never have I been more sensible of the sanctify- 
ing effect of church-music than when I have heard it thus 
poured forth, like a river of joy, through the inmost recesses 
of this great metropolis, elevating it, as it were, from all the 
sordid pollutions of the week; and bearing the poor world- 
worn soul on a tide of triumphant harmony to heaven. 

5. The morning service is at an end. The streets are again 
alive with the congregations returning to their homes, but 
soon again relapse into silence. Now comes on the Sunday 
dinner, which, to the city tradesman, is a meal of some im- 
portance. There is more leisure for social enjoyment at the 
board. Members of the family can now gather together, 
who are separated by the laborious occupations of the week. 
A schoolboy may be permitted on that day to come to the 
paternal home; an old friend of the family takes his accus- 
tomed Sunday seat at the board, tells over his well-known 
stories, and rejoices young and old with his well-known 
jokes. 

6. On Sunday afternoon the city pours forth its legions to 
breathe the fresh air and enjoy the sunshine of the parks and 
rural environs. Satirists may say what they please about the 
rural enjoyments of a London citizen on Sunday, but to me 
there is something delightful in beholding the poor prisoner 
of the crowded and dusty city enabled thus to come forth once 
a week and throw himself upon the green bosom of nature. 
He is like a child restored to the mother's breast ; and they 
who first spread out these noble parks and magnificent pleas- 
ure-grounds which surround this huge metropolis, have done 
at least as much for its health and morality as if they had 
expended the amount of cost in hospitals, prisons, and 
penitentiaries. 



LONDON ANTIQUES 

[Comment. — In the month of August, 1817, Irving spent 
three weeks in the heart of London. In this interval he made 
the ramble of observation in which, sorely buffeted by the 
current of population setting through Fleet Street, he plunged 
into a narrow by-way which led by crooked turns into Foun- 
tain Court of Middle Temple and thence to the ancient Saxon 
portal of the chapel of the Knights Templar. This adventure 
suggests the occupation that pleased him best in the leisure 
hours of his residence in the city, and reveals the source of sev- 
eral essays of "The Sketch-Book. " 

The description of Charterhouse in ''London Antiques" at 
once suggests "The Newcomes." The gray haired old men, 
clad in long black cloaks, remind us of the humble, bowed head 
of Thomas Newcome ; as we follow our author about and see 
the boys at play, or the long line of pensioners returning from 
service, we feel that Irving must have had this story in mind, 
but in truth, his essay was written while Thackeray was yet 
a schoolboy, playing in the open spaces of the old enclosure. 

In this essay, the author appears without disguise as the 
antiquity-hunter who escapes "from the prosaic commonplace 
world about him through his poetical and romantic interest 
in the relics of old times." The first adventure, in which he 
encounters the ancient knights of the Temple, serves to define 
his temper of mind and interest. The second, similar in kind, 
becomes the subject of the essay; this is arranged as if by 
model, and the parts follow one another in due order, — the 
description of the "stately gothic pile," within, and without; 
the atmosphere pervading hall and court, the impression of all 
upon the susceptible traveller; then, a glimpse of the human 
life within, again reflected in the traveller's point of view, as if, 
in reality, the ghosts of his dreams had appeared. This fur- 
nishes the clue to the following paragraphs in which Irving 
skilfully narrates what he saw as he went about, but all the 
while casts over the reader the spell of his own fanciful humor 
so that when we at length emerge to the streets and traffic of 
the modern city we seem to have returned from a distant past, 
to which everything we have seen, even the living figures, 
rightfully belongs. 

Since Irving's day, many changes have taken place in the 
parts of London of which he wrote, but Charterhouse still 
provides for the pensioners fortunate enough to find shelter 
for old age within its walls. The school was removed in 1872, 
to Godalming, in Surrey; the old school buildings have been 
rebuilt and are now tenanted by the school of the Merchant 
Tailors' Company. D.] 

112 



LONDON ANTIQUES 113 



I do walk 



Methinks like Guido Vaux, with my dark lanthorn 
Stealing to set the town o' fire; i' th' country 
I should be taken for William o' the Wisp, 
Or Robin Goodfellow. — Fletcher. 

1. I am somewhat of an antiquity-hunter and am fond 
of exploring London in quest of the rehcs of old times. These 
are principally to be found in the depths of the city, swallowed 
up and almost lost in a wilderness of brick and mortar; but 
deriving poetical and romantic interest from the common- 
place prosaic world around them. I was struck with an in- 
stance of the kind in the course of a recent summer ramble 
into the city ; for the city is only to be explored to advantage 
in summer time, when free from the smoke and fog, and rain 
and mud of winter. I had been buffeting "Tor some time 
against the current of population setting through Fleet Street. 
The warm weather had unstrung my nerves, and made me 
sensitive to every jar and jostle and discordant sound. The 
flesh was weary, the spirit faint, and I was getting out of 
humor with the bustling busy throng through which I had 
to struggle, when in a fit of desperation I tore my way through 
the crowd, plunged into a by-lane, and after passing through 
several obscure nooks and angles, emerged into a quaint and 
quiet court with a grass-plot in the centre, overhung by elms, 
and kept perpetually fresh and green by a fountain with its 
sparkling jet of water. A student, with book in hand, was 
seated on a stone bench, partly reading, partly meditating 
on the movements of two or three trim nursery maids with 
their infant charges. 

2. I was like an Arab, who had suddenly come upon an 
oasis amid the panting sterility of the desert. By degrees the 
quiet and coolness of the place soothed my nerves and re- 
freshed my spirit. I pursued my walk, and came, hard by, 
to a very ancient chapel, with a low-browed Saxon portal of 
massive and rich architecture. The interior was circular 
and lofty, and hghted from above. Around were monu- 
mental tombs of ancient date, on which were extended the 
marble effigies of warriors in armor. Some had the hands 
devoutly crossed upon the breast; others grasped the pom- 



114 



THE SKETCH-BOOK 




mel of the sword, menancing hostility even in the tomb ! — 
while the crossed legs of several indicated soldiers of the 
Faith who had been on crusades to the Holy Land. I was, 
in fact, in the chapel of the Knights Templars, strangely 
situated in the very centre of sordid traffic; and I do not 
know a more impressive lesson for the man of the world than 
thus suddenly to turn aside from the highway of busy money- 
seeking life, and sit down among these 
shadowy sepulchres, where all is twi- 
light, dust, and forgetfulness. 

3. In a subsequent tour of obser- 
vation, I encountered another of these 
relics of a "foregone world" locked up 
in the heart of the city. I had been 
wandering for some time through dull 
monotonous streets, destitute of any- 
thing to strike the eye or excite the im- 
agination, when I beheld before me a 
Gothic gateway of mouldering antiq- 
uity. It opened into a spacious quad- 
rangle forming the court-yard of a 
stately Gothic pile, the portal of which stood invitingly open. 
It was apparently a public edifice, and as I was antiquity 
hunting, I ventured in, though with dubious steps. Meeting 
no one either to oppose or rebuke my intrusion, I continued 
on until I found myself in a great hall, with a lofty arched 
roof and oaken gallery, all of Gothic architecture. At one end 
of the hall was an enormous fireplace, with wooden settles 
on each side ; at the other end was a raised platform, or dais, 
the seat of state, above which was the portrait of a man in 
antique garb, with a long robe, a ruff, and a venerable gray 
beard. 

4. The whole establishment had an air of monastic quiet 
and seclusion, and what gave it a mysterious charm was, 
that I had not met with a human being since I had passed 
the threshold. Encouraged by this loneliness, I seated my- 
self in a recess of a large bow-window, which admitted a broad 
flood of yellow sunshine, checkered here and there by tints 



Knight Templar in 
Costume 



LONDON ANTIQUES 



115 



from panes of colored glass ; while an open casement let in the 
soft summer air. Here, leaning my head on my hand, and 
my arm on an old oaken table, I indulged in a sort of reverie 
about what might have been the ancient uses of this edifice. 
It had evidently been of monastic origin; perhaps one of 
those collegiate establishments built of yore for the promotion 
of learning, where the patient monk, in the ample solitude 
of the cloister, added 
page to page and 
volume to volume, 
emulating in the pro- 
ductions of his brain 
the magnitude of the 
pile he inhabited. 

5. As I was seated 
in this musing mood, 
a small panelled door 
in an arch at the 
upper end of the hall 
was opened, and a 
number of gray- 
headed old men, clad 

in long black cloaks, came forth one by one : proceeding 
in that manner through the hall, without uttering a word, 
each turning a pale face on me as he passed, and disap- 
pearing through a door at the lower end. 

6. I was singularly struck with their appearance; their 
black cloaks and antiquated air comported with the style 
of this most venerable and mysterious pile. It was as if 
the ghosts of the departed years, about which I had been 
musing, were passing in review before me. Pleasing myself 
with such fancies, I set out, in the spirit of romance, to explore 
what I pictured to myself a realm of shadows, existing in the 
very centre of substantial realities. 

7. My ramble led me through a labyrinth of interior courts, 
and corridors, and dilapidated cloisters, for the main edifice 
had many additions and dependencies, built at various times 
and in various styles; in one open space a number of boys, 




Temple Church from the South 



116 



THE SKETCH-BOOK 




Wash House Court, Charterhouse 



who evidently belonged to the establishment, were at their 
sports; but everywhere I observed those mysterious old 
gray men in black mantles, sometimes sauntering alone, some- 
times conversing 
in groups : they 
appeared to be the 
pervading genii of 
the place. I now 
called to mind 
what I had read 
of certain colleges 
in old times, where 
judicial astrology, 
geomancy, necro- 
mancy, and other 
forbidden and 
magical sciences 
were taught. Was this an establishment of the kind, and were 
these black-cloaked old men really professors of the black art ? 

8. These surmises were pass-ing through my mind as my 
eye glanced into a chamber, hung round with all kinds of 
strange and uncouth objects : implements of savage warfare; 
strange idols and stuffed alligators; bottled serpents and 
monsters decorated the mantel-piece; while on the high 
tester of an old-fashioned bedstead grinned a human skull, 
flanked on each side by a dried cat. 

9. I approached to regard more narrowly this mystic 
chamber, which seemed a fitting laboratory for a necromancer, 
when I was startled at beholding a human countenance staring 
at me from a dusky corner. It was that of a small, shrivelled 
old man, with thin cheeks, bright eyes, and gray wiry pro- 
jecting eyebrows. I at first doubted whether it were not a 
mummy curiously preserved, but it moved, and I saw that 
it was alive. It was another of these black-cloaked old men, 
and, as I regarded his quaint physiognomy, his obsolete garb, 
and the hideous and sinister objects by which he was sur- 
rounded, I began to persuade myself that I had come upon 
the arch mago who ruled over this magical fraternity. 



LONDON ANTIQUES 



117 



10. Seeing me pausing before the door, he rose and invited 
me to enter. I obeyed, with singular hardihood, for how did 
I know whether a wave of his wand might not metamorphose 




"" " "■ rtaB fe-fr^"'^ 



^^^.:-Ck«J-rrf|SS&^^^^ 



Charterhouse from the Play Ground 

me into some strange monster, or conjure me into one of the 
bottles on his mantel-piece? He proved, however, to be 
anything but a conjurer, and his simple garrulity soon dis- 
pelled all the magic and mystery with which I had enveloped 
this antiquated pile and its no less antiquated inhabitants. 

11. It appeared that I had made my way into the centre of 
an ancient asylum for superannuated tradesmen and decayed 
householders, with which was connected a school for a limited 
number of boys. It was founded upwards of two centuries 
since on an old monastic establishment, and retained some- 
what of the conventual air and character. The shadowy line 
of old men in black mantles who. had passed before me in the 
hall, and whom I had elevated into magi, turned out to be the 
pensioners returning from morning service in the chapel. 

12. John Hallum, the little collector of curiosities, whom 



118 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

I had made the arch magician, had been for six years a resi- 
dent of the place, and had decorated this final nestling-place 
of his old age with relics and rarities picked up in the course 
of his life. According to his own account he had been some- 
what of a traveller; having been once in France, and very- 
near making a visit to Holland. He regretted not having 
visited the latter country, " as then he might have said he had 
been there." He was evidently a traveller of the simplest 
kind. 

13. He was aristocratical too in his notions ; keeping aloof , 
as I found, from the ordinary run of pensioners. His chief 
associates were a blind man who spoke Latin and Greek, of 
both which languages Hallum was profoundly ignorant, and a 
broken-down gentleman who had run through a fortune of 
forty thousand pounds left him by his father, and ten thou- 
sand pounds, the marriage portion of his wife. Little Hal- 
lum seemed to consider it an indubitable sign of gentle blood 
as well as of lofty spirit to be able to squander such enormous 
sums. 

14. P. S. The picturesque remnant of old times into 
which I have thus beguiled the reader is what is called the 
Charterhouse, originally the Chartreuse. It was founded in 
1611, on the remains of an ancient convent, by Sir Thomas 
Sutton, being one of those noble charities set on foot by in- 
dividual munificence, and kept up with the quaintness and 
sanctity of ancient times amidst the modern changes and 
innovations of London. Here eighty broken-down men, who 
had seen better days, are provided, in their old age, with food, 
clothing, fuel, and a yearly allowance for private expenses. 
They dine together as did the monks of old, in the hall which 
had been the refectory of the original convent. Attached to 
the establishment is a school for forty-four boys. 

15. Stow, whose work I have consulted on the subject, 
speaking of the obligations of the gray-headed pensioners, 
says : "They are not to intermeddle with any business touch- 
ing the affairs of the hospital, but to attend only to the service 
of God, and take thankfully what is provided for them, with- 



LONDON ANTIQUES 



119 



out muttering, murmuring, or grudging. None to wear 
weapon, long hair, colored boots, spurs or colored shoes, 
feathers in their hats, or any ruffian hke or unseemly apparel, 




The Great Hall, Charterhouse 

but such as becomes hospital men to wear." "And in 
truth," adds Stow, "happy are they that are so taken from the 
cares and sorrows of the world, and fixed in so good a place 
as these old men are; having nothing to care for, but the 
good of their souls, to serve God and to live in brotherly love." 



16. For the amusement of such as have been interested by 
the preceding sketch, taken down from my own observation, 
and who may wish to know a little more about the mysteries 
of London, I subjoin a modicum of local history, put into my 



120 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

hands by an odd-looking old gentleman in a small brown 
wig and a snuff-colored coat, with whom I became acquainted 
shortly after my visit to the Charterhouse. I confess I was 
a little dubious at first, w^hether it was not one of those apoc- 
ryphal tales often passed off upon inquiring travellers like 
myself; and which have brought our general character for 
veracity into such unmerited reproach. On making proper 
inquiries, however, I have received the most satisfactory as- 
surances of the author's probity ; and, indeed, have been told 
that he is actually engaged in a full and particular account 
of the very interesting region in which he resides; of which 
the following may be considered merely as a foretaste. 



THE BOAR'S HEAD TAVERN, EASTCHEAP 
A SHAKESPERIAN RESEARCH 

[Comment. — The original Boar's Head Tavern in Eastcheap 
"stood between Small Alley and St. Michael's Lane," and at 
the rear looked out upon the churchyard of St. Michael's. At 
the time of Shakespeare it had long been a famous hostelry, but 
it is impossible to say when it was built. The earliest mention 
of it shows that it was frequented in the reign of Richard II, 
and Stow refers to a riot there, in 1410, in which two sons of 
Henry IV were mixed up. In the fire of 1666 this inn was 
burned, and two years later another Boar's Head Tavern was 
erected on the same site. The sign of the old inn, a boar's 
head surrounded by tusks, was subsequently found in a heap of 
debris supposed to have been gathered from the ruins after the 
fire ; it was a small carving in oak, four and one-half inches in 
diameter, and was identified by the date, 1568, and by initials 
which correspond with those of the landlord of the Boar's 
Head in that year. For the new tavern, a boar's head was 
carved in stone and set in the wall between the first floor win- 
dows, where it remained until the demolition of the building 
in 1831, to make way for the new approaches to London Bridge. 
This interesting block of stone has been preserved and placed 
in Guildhall Museum. At the present time the site of the old 
tavern is indicated by the statue of William IV, which stands 
in the space cleared by the removal of the building formerly 
called Boar's Head Tavern and of its neighbors. 

Little is known of the character of this hostelry in the time 
of Prince Hal, but in Shakespeare's day Eastcheap was a region 
of markets and taverns, frequented by roystering fellows. 
The Boar's Head was one of four inns that stood between St. 
Michael's Lane and a near-by alley. To the north of it was 
grass market; fish and meat markets lay to the south and east 
of the place, and commodities from the wharves of Billingsgate 
found an open way thither. This tavern was especially popu- 
lar, and Shakespeare, who was fond of representing familiar 
scenes in his plays, chose it for the revels of Falstaff and the 
prince. The character of the prince is borrowed from old 
chronicles of English history, but his real companions had been 
forgotten long ere Shakespeare wrote, and he created others in 
the likeness of such tavern folk as beguiled his own idle Hours. 

121 



122 THE SKETCH-BOOK 



The play, "Henry IV," represents places, scenes, and charac- 
ters familiar to its author. These Irving strove to recall as 
Shakespeare saw them. As material for this essay he had, first, 
Shakespeare's play, of which he was very fond; secondly, the 
ancient buildings and city streets in the neighborhood of the 
old tavern; and, thirdly, the usual sources of antiquarian lore, 
old books full of anecdote and description, relics, maps, 
museums, etc. Full of knowledge from reading and study, he 
wandered in the old places striving to realize the life of a past 
age, until his imagination took fire, and they were peopled once 
more with figures bearing familiar names and enacting scenes 
as real as the remembered sports of childhood. This experi- 
ence our author narrated in his essay, hoping thereby to share 
with us the sense of reality which had come to him when he 
stood in the places where Shakespeare had once been. D.] 

"A tavern is the rendezvous, the exchange, the staple of good 
fellows. I have heard my great-grandfather tell, how his great- 
great-grandfather should say, that it was an old proverb when his 
great-grandfather was a child, that 'it was a good wind that blew 
a man to the wine.' " — Mother Bombie. 



1. It is a pious custom, in some Catholic countries, to 
honor the memory of saints by votive lights burnt before 
their pictures. The popularity of a saint, therefore, may be 
known by the number of these offerings. One, perhaps, is 
left to moulder in the darkness of his little chapel; another 
may have a solitary lamp to throw its blinking rays athwart 
his effigy; while the whole blaze of adoration is lavished at 
the shrine of some beatified father of renown. The wealthy 
devotee brings his huge luminary of wax; the eager zealot 
his seven-branched candlestick; and even the mendicant 
pilgrim is by no means satisfied that sufficient light is thrown 
upon the deceased, unless he hangs up his little lamp of 
smoking oil. The consequence is, that in the eagerness to 
enlighten, they are often apt to obscure ; and I have occasion- 
ally seen an unlucky saint almost smoked out of countenance 
by the oflftciousness of his followers. 

2. In like manner has it fared with the immortal Shakes- 
peare. Every writer considers it his bounden duty to light 
up some portion of his character or works, and to rescue some 
merit from oblivion. The commentator, opulent in words, 



THE boar's head TAVERN, EASTCHEAP 123 



produces vast tomes of dissertations; the common herd of 
editors send up mists of obscurity from their notes at the 
bottom of each page; and every casual scribbler brings 
his farthing rushlight of eulogy or research, to swell the cloud 
of incense and of smoke. 

3. As I honor all established usages of my brethren of the 
quill, I thought it but proper to contribute my mite of homage 
to the memory of the illustrious bard. I was for some time, 
however, sorely puzzled in what way I should discharge this 
duty. I found myself anticipated in every attempt at a new 
reading; every doubtful line had been explained a dozen 
different ways, and perplexed beyond the reach of elucidation ; 
and as to fine passages, 
they had all been amply 
praised by previous admir- 
ers ; nay, so completely had 
the bard, of late, been over- 
larded with panegyric by a 
great German critic, that 
it was difficult now to find 
even a fault that had not 
been argued into a beauty. 

4. In this perplexity, I 
was one morning turning 
over his pages, when I casu- 
ally opened upon the comic 
scenes of "Henry IV," and 
was, in a moment, com- 
pletely lost in the madcap 
revelry of the Boar's Head 
Tavern. So vividly and 
naturally are these scenes 
of humor depicted, and 
with such force and con- 
sistency are the characters sustained, that they become 
mingled up in the mind with the facts and personages of real 
life. To few readers does it occur, that these are all ideal 
creations of a poet's brain, and that, in sober truth, no such 




Yb Olde Boar's Head Tavern 
From Callow's "London Taverns" 



124 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

knot of merry roisters ever enlivened the dull neighborhood 
of Eastcheap. 

5. For my part I love to give myself up to the illusions of 
poetry. A hero of fiction that never existed is just as valuable 
to me as a hero of history that existed a thousand years since : 
and, if I may be excused such an insensibility to the common 
ties of human nature, I would not give up fat Jack for half 
the great men of ancient chronicle. What have the heroes of 
yore done for me, or men like me? They have conquered 
countries of which I do not enjoy an acre ; or they have gained 
laurels of which I do not inherit a leaf ; or they have furnished 
examples of hair-brained prowess, which I have neither the 
opportunity nor the inclination to follow. But, old Jack 
Falstaff ! — kind Jack Falstaff ! — sweet Jack Falstaff ! — ■ 
has enlarged the boundaries of human enjoyment; he has 
added vast regions of wit and good-humor, in which the poor- 
est man may revel; and has bequeathed a never-failing in- 
heritance of jolly laughter, to make mankind merrier and 
better to the latest posterity. 

6. A thought suddenly struck me: "I will make a pil- 
grimage to Eastcheap," said I, closing the book, "and see 
if the old Boar's Head Tavern still exists. Who knows but 
I may light upon some legendary traces of Dame Quickly 
and her guests ; at any rate, there will be a kindred pleasure, 
in treading the halls once vocal with their mirth, to that the 
toper enjoys in smelling to the emjDty cask once filled with 
generous wine." 

7. The resolution was no sooner formed than put in exe- 
cution. I forbear to treat of the various adventures and 
wonders I encountered in my travels ; of the haunted regions 
of Cock Lane, of the faded glories of Little Britain, and the 
parts adjacent; what perils I ran in Cateaton Street and old 
Jewry ; of the renowned Guildhall and its two stunted giants, 
the pride and wonder of the city, and the terror of all un- 
lucky urchins ; and how I visited London Stone, and struck 
my staff upon it, in imitation of that arch-rebel, Jack Cade. 

8. Let it suffice to say, that I at length arrived in merry 
Eastcheap, that ancient region of wit and wassail, where 




Bird's-eye view of Eastcheap 



126 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

the very names of the streets rehshed of good cheer, 
as Pudding Lane bears testimony even at the present 
day. For Eastcheap, says old Stowe, "was ahvays famous 
for its convivial doings. The cookes cried hot ribbes of beef 
roasted, pies well baked, and other victuals : there was clat- 
tering of pewter pots, harpe, pipe, and sawtrie." Alas ! how 
sadly is the scene changed since the roaring days of Falstaff 
and old Stowe ! The madcap roister has given place to the 
plodding tradesman ; the clattering of pots and the sound of 
''harpe and sawtrie," to the din of carts and the accursed 
dinging of the dustman's bell ; and no song is heard save, 
haply, the strain of some siren from Billingsgate chanting 
the eulogy of deceased mackerel. 

9. I sought, in vain, for the ancient abode of Dame Quickly. 
The only relic of it is a boar's head, carved in relief in stone, 
which formerly served as the sign, but at present is built into 
the parting line of two houses, which stand on the site of the 
renowned old tavern. 

10. For the history of this little abode of good fellowship, I 
was referred to a tallow-chandler's widow, opposite, who had 
been born and brought up on the spot, and was looked up to as 
the indisputable chronicler of the neighborhood. I found 
her seated in a little back parlor, the window of which looked 
out upon a yard about eight feet square, laid out as a flower- 
garden; while a glass door opposite afforded a distant peep 
of the street, through a vista of soap and tallow candles : the 
two views, which comprised, in all probability, her prospects 
in life, and the little world in which she had lived, and moved, 
and had her being, for the better part of a century. 

11. To be versed in the history of Eastcheap, great and 
little, from London Stone even unto the Monument, was 
doubtless, in her opinion, to be acquainted with the history 
of the universe. Yet, with all this, she possessed the simphcity 
of true wisdom, and that liberal communicative disposition 
which I have generally remarked in intelligent old ladies, 
knowing in the concerns of their neighborhood. 

12. Her information, however, did not extend far back 
into antiquity. She could throw no light upon the history of 



THE boar's head TAVERN, EASTCHEAP 127 

the Boar's Head, from the time that Dame Quickly espoused 
the vaHant Pistol, until the great fire of London, when it was 
unfortunately burnt down. It was soon rebuilt, and con- 
tinued to flourish under the old name and sign, until a dying 
landlord, struck with remorse for double scores, bad measures, 
and other iniquities, which are incident to the sinful race of 
publicans, endeavored to make his peace with heaven, by 
bequeathing the tavern to St. MichaeFs Church, Crooked 
Lane, towards the supporting of a chaplain. For some time 
the vestry meetings were regularly held there; but it was 
observed that the old Boar never held up his head under 
church government. He gradually declined, and finally gave 
his last gasp about thirty years since. The tavern was then 
turned into shops; but she informed me that a picture of it 
was still preserved in St. Michael's 
Church, which stood just in the rear. 
To get a sight of this picture was now 
my determination ; so, having informed 
myself of the abode of the sexton, I 
took my leave of the venerable chroni- 
cler of Eastcheap, my visit having 
doubtless raised greatly her opinion of SiciToir'THE Boar^ 
her legendary lore, and furnished an im- Head 

portant incident in the history of her life. 

13. It cost me some difficulty, and much curious inquiry, 
to ferret out the humble hanger-on to the church. I had to 
explore Crooked Lane and divers little alleys, and elbows, and 
dark passages, with which this old city is perforated like an 
ancient cheese, or a worm-eaten chest of drawers. At length 
I traced him to a corner of a small court surrounded by lofty 
houses, where the inhabitants enjoy about as much of the 
face of heaven as a community of frogs at the bottom of a well. 

14. The sexton was a meek, acquiescing little man of a 
bowing, lowly habit ; yet he had a pleasant twinkling in his 
eye, and, if encouraged, would now and then hazard a small 
pleasantry ; such as a man of his low estate might venture to 
make in the company of high church-wardens, and other 
mighty men of the earth. I found him in company with the 




128 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

deputy organist, seated apart, like Milton's angels, dis- 
coursing, no doubt, on high doctrinal points, and settling the 
affairs of the church over a friendly pot of ale, — for the lower 
classes of English seldom deliberate on any weighty matter 
without the assistance of a cool tankard to clear their under- 
standings. I arrived at the moment when they had finished 
their ale and their argument, and were about to repair to the 
church to put it in order ; so having made known my wishes, 
I received their gracious permission to accompany them. 

15. The church of St. Michael's, Crooked Lane, standing a 
short distance from Billingsgate, is enriched with the tombs 
of many fishmongers of renown ; and as every profession has 
its galaxy of glory, and its constellation of great men, I pre- 
sume the monimient of a mighty fishmonger of the olden time 
is regarded with as much reverence by succeeding generations 
of the craft, as poets feel on contemplating the tomb of Virgil, 
or soldiers the monument of a Marlborough or Turenne. 

16. I cannot but turn aside, while thus speaking of il- 
lustrious men, to observe that St. Michael's, Crooked Lane, 
contains also the ashes of that doughty champion, William 
Walworth, knight, who so manfully clove down the sturdy 
wight, Wat Tyler, in Smithfield ; a hero worthy of honorable 
blazon, as almost the only Lord Mayor on record famous for 
deeds of arms : — the sovereigns of Cockney being generally 
renowned as the most pacific of all potentates.^ 

^ The following was the ancient inscription on the monument of 
this worthy ; which, unhappily, was destroyed in the great confla- 
gration. 

"Hereunder lyth a man of Fame, 
William Walworth callyd by name ; 
Fishmonger he was in lyfftime here, 
And twise Lord Maior, as in books appere. 
Who, with courage stout and manly myght 
Slew Jack Straw in Kyng Richard's sight. 
For which act done, and trew entent. 
The Kyng made him knyght incontinent ; 
And gave him armes, as here you see. 
To declare his fact and chivaldrie. 
He left this lyff the yere of our God 
Thirteen hundred fourscore and three odd." 

An error in the foregoing inscription has been corrected by the 
venerable Stowe. "Whereas," saith he, "it hath been far spread 



THE boar's head TAVERN, EASTCHEAP 129 

17. Adjoining the church, in a small cemetery, immediately 
under the back window of what was once the Boar's Head, 
stands the tombstone of Robert Preston, whilom drawer at the 
tavern. It is now nearly a century since this trusty drawer 
of good liquor closed his bustling career, and was thus quietly 
deposited within call of his customers. As I was clearing 
away the weeds from his epitaph, the little sexton drew me 
on one side with a mysterious air, and informed me in a low 
voice, that once upon a time, on a dark wintry night, when 
the wind was unruly, howling and whistling, banging about 
doors and windows, and twirling weathercocks, so that the 
living were frightened out of their beds, and even the dead 
could not sleep quietly in their graves, the ghost of honest 
Preston, which happened to be airing itself in the churchyard, 
was attracted by the well-known call of "waiter'' from the 
Boar's Head, and made its sudden appearance in the midst 
of a roaring club, just as the parish clerk was singing a stave 
from the "mirre garland of Captain Death"; to the discom- 
fiture of sundry trainband captains, and the conversion of an 
infidel attorney, who became a zealous Christian on the spot, 
and was never known to twist the truth afterwards, except 
in the way of business. 

18. I beg it may be remembered, that I do not pledge my- 
self for the authenticity of this anecdote, though it is well 
known that the churchyards and by-corners of this old me- 
tropolis are very much infested with perturbed spirits ; and 
every one must have heard of the Cock Lane ghost and the 
apparition that guards the regalia in the Tower, which has 
frightened so many bold sentinels almost out of their wits. 

19. Be all this as it may, this Robert Preston seems to have 
been a worthy successor to the nimble-tongued Francis, who 
attended upon the revels of Prince Hal ; to have been equally 

abroad by vulgar opinion, that the rebel smitten down so manfully 
by Sir William Walworth, the then worthy Lord Maior, was named 
Jack Straw, and not Wat Tyler, I thought good to reconcile this rash- 
conceived doubt by such testimony as I find in ancient and good rec- 
ords. The principal leaders, or captains, of the commons, were Wat 
Tyler, as the first man; the second was John, or Jack, Straw," etc., 
etc. — Stowe's London. 



130 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

prompt with his "anon, anon, sir;" and to have transcended 
his predecessor in honesty; for Falstaff, the veracity of 
whose taste no man will venture to impeach, flatly accuses 
Francis of putting lime in his sack ; whereas honest Preston's 
epitaph lauds him for the sobriety of his conduct, the sound- 
ness of his wine, and the fairness of his measure.^ The 
worthy dignitaries of the church, however, did not appear 
much captivated by the sober virtues of the tapster; the 
deputy organist, who had a moist look out of the eye, made 
some shrewd remark on the abstemiousness of a man brought 
up among full hogsheads ; and the httle sexton corroborated 
his opinion by a significant wink and a dubious shake of the 
head. 

20. Thus far my researches, though they threw much light 
on the history of tapsters, fishmongers, and Lord Mayors, yet 
disappointed me in the great object of my quest, the picture 
of the Boar's Head Tavern. No such painting was to be 
found in the church of St. Michael. "Marry and amen!" 
said I, "here endeth my research!" So I was giving the 
matter up, with the air of a baffled antiquary, when my friend 
the sexton, perceiving me to be curious in everything relative 
to the old tavern, offered to show me the choice vessels of the 
vestry, which had been handed down from remote times, 
when the parish meetings were held at the Boar's Head. 
These were deposited in the parish club-room, which had been 
transferred, on the decline of the ancient establishment, to a 
tavern in the neighborhood. 

21. A few steps brought us to the house, which stands 

^ As this inscription is rife with excellent morality, I transcribe it 
for the admonition of delinquent tapsters. It is, no doubt, the pro- 
duction of some choice spirit, who once frequented the Boar's Head. 

"Bacchus, to give the toping world surprise, 
Produced one sober son, and here he lies. 
Though rear'd among full hogsheads, he defy'd 
The charms of wine, and every one beside. 
O reader, if to justice thou'rt inclined. 
Keep honest Preston daily in thy mind. 
He drew good wine, took care to fill his pots, 
Had sundry virtues that excused his faults. 
You that on Bacchus have the like dependance, 
Pray copy Bob in measure and attendance." 



THE boar's head TAVERN, EASTCHEAP 131 

No. 12 Miles Lane, bearing the title of The Mason's Arms, 
and is kept by Master Edward Honeyball, the "bully rock" 
of the establishment. It is one of those little taverns which 
abound in the heart of the city, and form the centre of gossip 
and intelligence of the neighborhood. We entered the bar- 
room, which was narrow and darkling; for in these close 
lanes but a few rays of reflected light are enabled to struggle 
down to the inhabitants, whose broad day is at best but a 
tolerable twilight. The room was partitioned into boxes, 
each containing a table spread with a clean white cloth, ready 
for dinner. This showed that the guests were of the good old 
stamp, and divided their day equally, for it was but just one 
o'clock. At the lower end of the room was a clear coal fire, 
before which a breast of lamb was roasting. A row of bright 
brass candlesticks and pewter mugs glistened along the 
mantel-piece, and an old-fashioned clock ticked in one corner. 
There was something primitive in this medley of kitchen, 
parlor, and hall that carried me back to earlier times, and 
pleased me. The place, indeed, was humble, but everything 
had that look of order and neatness which bespeaks the super- 
intendence of a notable English housewife. A group of 
amphibious-looking beings, who might be either fishermen 
or sailors, were regaling themselves in one of the boxes. As 
I was a visitor of rather higher pretensions, I was ushered 
into a little misshapen backroom, having at least nine corners. 
It was lighted by a skylight, furnished with antiquated 
leathern chairs, and ornamented with the portrait of a fat 
pig. It was evidently appropriated to particular customers, 
and I found a shabby gentleman, in a red nose and oil-cloth 
hat, seated in one corner, meditating on a half-empty pot of 
porter. 

22. The old sexton had taken the landlady aside, and with 
an air of profound importance imparted to her my errand. 
Dame Honeyball was a likely, plump, bustling little woman, 
and no bad substitute for that paragon of hostesses. Dame 
Quickly. She seemed delighted with an opportunity to 
obHge ; and hurrying up-stairs to the archives of her house, 
where the precious vessels of the parish club were deposited, 



132 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

she returned, smiling and courtesy ing, with them in her 
hands. 

23. The first she presented me was a japanned iron tobacco- 
box, of gigantic size, out of which, I was told, the vestry 
had smoked at their stated meetings, since time immemorial ; 
and which was never suffered to be profaned by vulgar hands, 
or used on common occasions. I received it with becoming 
reverence; but what was my delight, at beholding on its 
cover the identical painting of which I was in quest ! There 
was displayed the outside of the Boar's Head Tavern, and 
before the door was to be seen the whole convivial group, at 
table, in full revel ; pictured with that wonderful fidelity and 
force, with which the portraits of renowned generals and 
commodores are illustrated on tobacco-boxes, for the benefit of 
posterity. Lest, however, there should be any mistake, the 
cunning limner had warily inscribed the names of Prince Hal 
and Falstaff on the bottoms of their chairs. 

24. On the inside of the cover was an inscription, nearly ob- 
literated, recording that this box was the gift of Sir Richard 
Gore, for the use of the vestry meetings at the Boar's Head 
Tavern, and that it was "repaired and beautified by his 
successor, Mr. John Packard, 1767." Such is a faithful 
description of this august and venerable relic ; and I question 
whether the learned Scriblerius contemplated his Roman 
shield, or the Knights of the Round Table the long-sought 
Sangreal, with more exultation. 

25. While I was meditating on it with enraptured gaze. 
Dame Honeyball, who was highly gratified by the interest 
it excited, put in my bands a drinking-cup or goblet, which 
also belonged to the vestry, and was descended from the old 
Boar's Head. It bore the inscription of having been the 
gift of Francis Wythers, knight, and was held, she told me, in 
exceeding great value, being considered very "antyke." 
This last opinion was strengthened by the shabby gentleman 
in the red nose and oil-cloth hat, and whom I strongly sus- 
pected of being a lineal descendant from the valiant Bardolph. 
He suddenly roused from his meditation on the pot of porter, 
and, casting a knowing look at the goblet, exclaimed, 



THE boar's head TAVERN, EASTCHEAP 133 



"Ay, ay! the head don't ache now that made that there 
article \" 

26. The great importance attached to this memento of 
ancient revelry by modern church-wardens at first puzzled 
me; but there is nothing 

sharpens the apprehension so 
much as antiquarian research; 
for I immediately perceived 
that this could be no other 
than the identical "parcel-gilt 
goblet'' on which Falstaff made 
his loving but faithless vow to 
Dame Quickly; and which 
would, of course, be treasured 
up with care among the regalia 
of her domains, as a testimony 
of that solemn contract.^ 

27. Mine hostess, indeed, 
gave me a long history how the 
goblet had been handed down 
from generation to generation. 
She also entertained me with 
many particulars concerning 
the worthy vestrymen who 
have seated themselves thus 
quietly on the stools of the 
ancient roisters of Eastcheap, and, like so many commen- 
tators, utter clouds of smoke in honor of Shakspeare. 
These I forbear to relate, lest my readers should not be 
as curious in these matters as myself. Suffice it to say, the 
neighbors, one and all, about Eastcheap, believe that Falstaff 
and his merry crew actually lived and revelled there. Nay, 
there are several legendary anecdotes concerning him still 

^ "Thou didst swear to me upon a parcel-gilt goblet, sitting in my 
Dolphin chamber, at the round table, by a sea-coal fire, on Wednes- 
day, in Whitsunweek, when the prince broke thy head for likening 
his father to a singing man at Windsor ; thou didst swear to me then, 
as I was washing thy wound, to marry me, and make me my lady, 
thy wife. Canst thou deny it? " — Henry IV, Part 2. 




Falstaff 

From the Gower statue at 
Stratford 



134 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

extant among the oldest frequenters of the Mason's Arms, 
which they give as transmitted down from their forefathers ; 
and Mr. M'Kash, an Irish hair-dresser, whose shop stands 
on the site of the old Boar's Head, has several dry jokes 
of Fat Jack's, not laid down in the books, with which he 
makes his customers ready to die of laughter. 

28. I now turned to my friend the sexton to make some 
further inquiries, but I found him sunk in pensive meditation. 
His head had declined a little on one side ; a deep sigh heaved 
from the very bottom of his stomach; and, though I could 
not see a tear trembling in his eye, yet a moisture was evi- 
dently stealing from a corner of his mouth. I followed the 
direction of his eye through the door which stood open, and 
found it fixed wistfully on the savory breast of lamb, roasting 
in dripping richness before the fire. 

29. I now called to mind that, in the eagerness of my recon- 
dite investigation, I was keeping the poor man from his dinner. 
My bowels yearned with sympathy, and, putting in his hand 
a small token of my gratitude and goodness, I departed, 
with a hearty benediction on him. Dame Honeyball, and the 
Parish Club of Crooked Lane ; — not forgetting my shabby but 
sententious friend in the oil-cloth hat and copper nose. 

30. Thus have I given a "tedious brief" account of this 
interesting research, for which, if it prove too short and un- 
satisfactory, I can only plead my inexperience in this branch 
of literature, so deservedly popular at the present day. I am 
aware that a more skilful illustrator of the immortal bard 
would have swelled the materials I have touched upon to a 
good merchantable bulk; comprising the biographies of 
William Walworth, Jack Straw, and Robert Preston; some 
notice of the eminent fishmongers of St. Michael's; the his- 
tory of Eastcheap, great and little; private anecdotes of 
Dame Honeyball, and her pretty daughter, whom I have not 
even mentioned; to say nothing of a damsel tending the 
breast of lamb, (and whom, by the way, I remarked to be a 
comely lass, with a neat foot and ankle ;) — the whole en- 
livened by the riots of Wat Tyler, and illuminated by the 
great fire of London. 



THE boar's head TAVERN, EASTCPIEAP 135 

31. All this I leave, as a rich mine, to be worked by future 
commentators; nor do I despair of seeing the tobacco-box, 
and the "parcel-gilt goblet," which I have thus brought to 
light, the subjects of future engravings, and almost as fruitful 
of voluminous dissertations and disputes as the shield of 
Achilles, or the far-famed Portland vase. 




Sign of the Bull and Mouth Inn 
From Callow's "London Taverns" 







Westminster Abbey from the Dean's Yard 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY 

[Comment, — The essay on Westminster Abbey records an 
emotional experience. In other excursions Irving transported 
himself into the past by an intellectual effort in which the lore 
and the sentiment of many brooding hours in the library mingled 
with the emotions awakened by the prospect of places long 
dreamed of. When he came to Westminster, the great Abbey 
took possession of him. To enter its arched doorway was, at 
once, an open sesame to the days of buried kings and queens; 
its storied walls surrounded him with the traditions of cen- 
turies, and, at each step, new emotions and associations 
thronged upon him. He, alone, the living man, seemed the 
unreal mortal being in this shrine of England's past. 

His mind was busy with close observation, but whatever he 
saw or recalled contributed to the impression made upon his 
imagination; he walked in a dream fashioned of all ancient 
stuff of human lives, recorded in stone. 

In writing the essay, however, Irving sought to give an 
account, in some order, of the features of the Abbey most note- 
worthy for the visitor who sought in it historic memorials 
of the English people, but, throughout, the emotion and awe 

136 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY 137 

always felt by him whenever he revisited the place furnished 
the keynote of the description. A sharp distinction should be 
made between the emotional experience and the descriptive 
narrative. In the essay Irving is often the antiquarian, busy 
with imparting curious information, but he never quite escapes 
from the personal point of view, and when, at length, he 
comes in his narrative to the point of leaving the dim aisles 
of the old minster to the gathering shadows, all that he has 
seen or recalled falls into indistinctness, while feelings of awe 
and the reflections of the moralizer mingle in his mind. D.] 

When I behold, with deep astonishment, 
To famous Westminster how there resorte 
Living in brasse or stoney monument, 
The princes and the worthies of all sorte : 
Doe not I see reformde nobilitie, 
Without contempt, or pride, or ostentation. 
And looke upon offenselesse majesty. 
Naked of pomp or earthly domination ? 
And how a play-game of a painted stone 
Contents the quiet now and silent sprites, 
Whome all the world which late they stood upon 
Could not content or quench their appetites. 
Life is a frost of cold felicitie, 
And death the thaw of all our vanitie. 
— Christolero 's Epigrams, by T. B., 1598. 

1. On one of those sober and rather melancholy days, in 
the latter part of Autumn, when the shadows of morning and 
evening almost mingle together, and throw a gloom over the 
decline of the year, I passed several hours in rambling about 
Westminster Abbey. There was something congenial to 
the season in the mournful magnificence of the old pile ; and, 
as I passed its threshold, it seemed hke stepping back into 
the regions of antiquity, and losing myself among the shades 
of former ages. 

2. I entered from the inner court of Westminster School, 
through a long, low, vaulted passage, that had an almost sub- 
terranean look, being dimly lighted in one part by circular 
perforations in the massive walls. Through this dark avenue 
I had a distant view of the cloisters, with the figure of an old 
verger, in his black gown, moving along their shadowy vaults, 
and seeming like a spectre from one of the neighboring 
tombs. The approach to the abbey through these gloomy 
monastic remains prepares the mind for its solemn contempla- 



138 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

tion. The cloisters still retain something of the quiet and se- 
clusion of former days. The gray walls are discolored by 
damps, and crumbling with age ; a coat of hoary moss has 
gathered over the inscriptions of the mural monuments, and 
obscured the death's-heads, and other funereal emblems. 
The sharp touches of the chisel are gone from the rich 
tracery of the arches; the roses which adorned the key- 
stones have lost their leafy beauty; everything bears 
marks of the gradual dilapidations of time, which yet has 
something touching and pleasing in its very decay. 

3. The sun was pouring down a yellow autumnal ray into 
the square of the cloisters; beaming upon a scanty plot of 
grass in the centre, and lighting up an angle of the vaulted 
passage with a kind of dusky splendor. From between the 
arcades, the eye glanced up to a bit of blue sky or a passing 
cloud, and beheld the sun-gilt pinnacles of the abbey tower- 
ing into the azure heaven. 

4. As I paced the cloisters, sometimes contemplating this 
mingled picture of glory and decay, and sometimes endeavor- 
ing to decipher the inscriptions on the tombstones, which 
formed the pavement beneath my feet, my eye was attracted 
to three figures, rudely carved in relief, but nearly worn away 
by the footsteps of many generations. They were the effigies 
of three of the early abbots; the epitaphs were entirely 
effaced; the names alone remained, having no doubt been 
renewed in later times. (Vitalis Abbas. 1082, and Gisleber- 
tus Crispinus. Abbas. 1114, and Laurentius. Abbas. 1176.) 
I remained some little while, musing over these casual relics 
of antiquity, thus left like wrecks upon this distant shore of 
time, telling no tale but that such beings had been, and had 
perished; teaching no moral but the futility of that pride 
which hopes still to exact homage in its ashes, and to live in 
an inscription. A little longer, and even these faint records 
will be obliterated, and the monument will cease to be a 
memorial. Whilst I was yet looking down upon these grave- 
stones, I was roused by the sound of the abbey clock, rever- 
berating from buttress to buttress, and echoing among the 
cloisters. It is almost startling to hear this warning of de- 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY 



139 



parted time sounding among the tombs, and telling the lapse 
of the hour, which, like a billow, has rolled us onward towards 
the grave. I pursued my walk to an arched door opening to 
the interior of the abbey. On entering here, the magnitude 
of the building breaks fully upon the mind, contrasted with 
the vaults of the cloisters. The eyes gaze with wonder at 
clustered columns of gigantic dimensions, with arches spring- 




SouTHEAST Corner of the Cloisters, Westminster Abbey 

ing from them to such an amazing height ; and man wandering 
about their bases, shrunk into insignificance in comparison 
with his own handiwork. The spaciousness and gloom of 
this vast edifice produce a profound and mysterious awe. 
We step cautiously and softly about, as if fearful of disturbing 
the hallowed silence of the tomb ; while every footfall whispers 
along the walls, and chatters among the sepulchres, making 
us more sensible of the quiet we have interrupted. 

5. It seems as if the awful nature of the place presses down 
upon the soul, and hushes the beholder into noiseless rever- 
ence. We feel that we are surrounded by the congregated 
bones of the great men of past times, who have filled history 
with their deeds, and the earth with their renown. 



140 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

6. And yet it almost provokes a smile at the vanity of 
human ambition, to see how they are crowded together and 
jostled in the dust ; what parsimony is observed in doling out 
a scanty nook, a gloomy corner, a little portion of earth, 
to those, whom, when alive, kingdoms could not satisfy; 
and how many shapes, and forms, and artifices are devised 
to catch the casual notice of the passenger, and save from 
forgetfulness, for a few short years, a name which once aspired 
to occupy ages of the world's thought and admiration. 

7. I passed some time in Poet's Corner, which occupies an 
end of one of the transepts or cross aisles of the abbey. The 
monuments are generally simple; for the lives of literary 
men afford no striking themes for the sculptor. Shakspeare 
and Addison have statues erected to their memories ; but the 
greater part have busts, medallions, and sometimes mere in- 
scriptions. Notwithstanding the simplicity of these me- 
morials, I have always observed that the visitors to the abbey 
remained longest about them. A kinder and fonder feeling 
takes place of that cold curiosity or vague admiration with 
which they gaze on the splendid monuments of the great and 
the heroic. They linger about these as about the tombs of 
friends and companions; for indeed there is something of 
companionship between the author and the reader. Other 
men are known to posterity only through the medium of his- 
tory, which is continually growing faint and obscure ; but the 
intercourse between the author and his fellow-men is ever 
new, active, and immediate. He has lived for them more 
than for himself; he has sacrificed surrounding enjoyments, 
and shut himself up from the delights of social life, that he 
might the more intimately commune with distant minds and 
distant ages. Well may the world cherish his renown ; for it 
has been purchased, not by deeds of violence and blood, but 
by the diligent dispensation of pleasure. Well may posterity 
be grateful to his memory; for he has left it an inheritance, 
not of empty names and sounding actions, but whole treas- 
ures of wisdom, bright gems of thought, and golden veins of 
language. 

8. From Poet's Corner I continued my stroll towards that 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY 141 

part of the abbey which contains the sepulchres of the kings. 
I wandered among what once were chapels, but which are 
now occupied by the tombs and monuments of the great. 
At every turn I met with some illustrious name, or the cog- 
nizance of some powerful house renowned in history. As the 
eye darts into these dusky chambers of death, it catches 
glimpses of quaint effigies; some kneeling in niches, as if 
in devotion; others stretched upon the tombs, with hands 
piously pressed together; warriors in armor, as if reposing 
after battle ; prelates with crosiers and mitres ; and nobles in 
robes and coronets, lying as it were in state. In glancing 
over this scene, so strangely populous, yet where every form 
is so still and silent, it seems almost as if we were treading a 
mansion of that fabled city, where every being had been 
suddenly transmuted into stone. 

9. I paused to contemplate a tomb on which lay the effigy 
of a knight in complete armor. A large buckler was on one 
arm; the hands were pressed together in supplication upon 
the breast : the face was almost covered by the morion ; the 
legs were crossed in token of the warrior's having been en- 
gaged in the holy war. It was the tomb of a Crusader; of 
one of those military enthusiasts who so strangely mingled 
religion and romance, and whose exploits form the connecting 
link between fact and fiction; between the history and the 
fairy tale. There is something extremely picturesque in the 
tombs of these adventurers, decorated as they are with rude 
armorial bearings and Gothic sculpture. They comport with 
the antiquated chapels in which they are generally found ; and 
in considering them, the imagination is apt to kindle with the 
legendary associations, the romantic fiction, the chivalrous 
pomp and pageantry, which poetry has spread over the wars 
for the sepulchre of Christ. They are the rehcs of times 
utterly gone by; of beings passed from recollection; of 
customs and manners with which ours have no affinity. They 
are like objects from some strange and distant land, of which 
we have no certain knowledge, and about which all our con- 
ceptions are vague and visionary. There is something ex- 
tremely solemn and awful in those effigies on Gothic tombs, 



142 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

extended as if in the sleep of death, or in the suppHcation of 
the dying hour. They have an effect infinitely more impres- 
sive on my feelings than the fanciful attitudes, the over- 
wrought conceits, and allegorical groups, which abound on 
modern monuments. I have been struck, also, with the 
superiority of many of the old sepulchral inscriptions. There 
was a noble way, in former times, of saying things simply, and 
yet saying them proudly ; and I do not know an epitaph that 
breathes a loftier consciousness of family worth and honorable 
lineage than one which affirms, of a noble house, that "all 
the brothers were brave, and all the sisters virtuous." 

10. In the opposite transept to Poet's Corner stands a 
monument which is among the most renowned achievements 
of modern art ; but which to me appears horrible rather than 
sublime. It is the tomb of Mrs. Nightingale, by Roubillac. 
The bottom of the monument is represented as throwing open 
its marble doors, and a sheeted skeleton is starting forth. 
The shroud is falling from his fleshless frame as he launches his 
dart at his victim. She is sinking into her affrighted hus- 
band's arms, who strives, with vain and frantic effort, to 
avert the blow. The whole is executed with terrible truth 
and spirit; we almost fancy we hear the gibbering yell of 
triumph bursting from the distended jaws of the spectre. — 
But why should we thus seek to clothe death with unnecessary 
terrors, and to spread horrors round the tomb of those we 
love? The grave should be surrounded by everything that 
might inspire tenderness and veneration for the dead ; or that 
might win the living to virtue. It is the place, not of disgust 
and dismay, but of sorrow and meditation. 

11. While wandering about these gloomy vaults and silent 
aisles, studying the records of the dead, the sound of busy 
existence from without occasionally reaches the ear ; — 
the rumbling of the passing equipage; the murmur of the 
multitude ; or perhaps the light laugh of pleasure. The con- 
trast is striking with the deathlike repose around : and it has 
a strange effect upon the feelings, thus to hear the surges of 
active life hurrying along, and beating against the very walls 
of the sepulchre. 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY 143 

12. I continued in this way to move from tomb to tomb, 
and from chapel to chapel. The day was gradually wearing 
away; the distant tread of loiterers about the abbey grew 
less and less frequent ; the sweet-tongued bell was summoning 
to evening prayers; and I saw at a distance the choristers, 
in their white surplices, crossing the aisle and entering the 
choir. I stood before the entrance to Henry the Seventh's 
chapel. A flight of steps lead up to it, through a deep and 
gloomy, but magnificent arch. Great gates of brass, richly 
and delicately wrought, turn heavily upon their hinges, as 
if proudly reluctant to admit the feet of common mortals 
into this most gorgeous of sepulchres. 

13. On entering, the eye is astonished by the pomp of 
architecture, and the elaborate beauty of sculptured detail. 
The very walls are wrought into universal ornament, incrusted 
with tracery, and scooped into niches, crowded with the 
statues of saints and martyrs. Stone seems, by the cunning 
labor of the chisel, to have been robbed of its weight and 
density, suspended aloft, as if by magic, and the fretted roof 
achieved with the wonderful minuteness and airy security of 
a cobweb. 

14. Along the sides of the chapel are the lofty stalls of the 
Knights of the Bath, richly carved of oak, though with the 
grotesque decorations of Gothic architecture. On the pin- 
nacles of the stalls are affixed the helmets and crests of the 
knights, with their scarfs and swords; and above them are 
suspended their banners, emblazoned with armorial bearings, 
and contrasting the splendor of gold and purple and crimson 
with the cold gray fretwork of the roof. In the midst of this 
grand mausoleum stands the sepulchre of its founder, — 
his effigy, with that of his queen, extended on a sumptuous 
tomb, and the whole surrounded by a superbly wrought brazen 
railing. 

15. There is a sad dreariness in this magnificence; this 
strange mixture of tombs and trophies; these emblems of 
living and aspiring ambition, close beside mementos which 
show the dust and oblivion in which all must sooner or later 
terminate. Nothing impresses the mind with a deeper feeling 



144 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

of loneliness than to tread the silent and deserted scene of 
former throng and pageant. On looking round on the vacant 
stalls of the knights and their esquires, and on the rows of 
dusty but gorgeous banners that were once borne before them, 
my imagination conjured up the scene when this hall was 
bright with the valor and beauty of the land ; glittering with 
the splendor of jewelled rank and military array; alive with 
the tread of many feet and the hum of an admiring multitude. 
All had passed away; the silence of death had settled again 
upon the place, interrupted only by the casual chirping of 
birds, which had found their way into the chapel, and built 
their nests among its friezes and pendants — sure signs of 
solitariness and desertion. 

16. When I read the names inscribed on the banners, they 
were those of men scattered far and wide about the world ; some 
tossing upon distant seas ; some under arms in distant lands ; 
some mingling in the busy intrigues of courts and cabinets ; 
all seeking to deserve one more distinction in this mansion 
of shadowy honors : the melancholy reward of a monument. 

17. Two small aisles on each side of this chapel present 
a touching instance of the equality of the grave ; which brings 
down the oppressor to a level with the oppressed, and mingles 
the dust of the bitterest enemies together. In one is the 
sepulchre of the haughty Elizabeth; in the other is that of 
her victim, the lovely and unfortunate Mary. Not an hour 
in the day but some ejaculation of pity is uttered over the 
fate of the latter, mingled with indignation at her oppressor. 
The walls of Elizabeth's sepulchre continually echo with the 
sighs of sympathy heaved at the grave of her rival. 

18. A peculiar melancholy reigns over the aisle where 
Mary lies buried. The light struggles dimly through windows 
darkened by dust. The greater part of the place is in deep 
shadow, and the walls are stained and tinted by time and 
weather. A marble figure of Mary is stretched upon the 
tomb, round which is an iron railing, much corroded, bearing 
her national emblem — the thistle. I was weary with wan- 
dering, and sat down to rest myself by the monument, revolving 
in my mind the checkered and disastrous story of poor Mary. 




Henry VII Chapel, AVestminster Abbey 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY 145 

19. The sound of casual footsteps had ceased from the 
abbey. I could only hear, now and then, the distant voice 
of the priest repeating the evening service, and the faint 
responses of the choir ; these paused for a time, and all was 
hushed. The stillness, the desertion and obscurity that were 
gradually prevailing around, gave a deeper and more solemn 
interest to the place. 

For in the silent grave no conversation, 

No joyful tread of friends, no voice of lovers, 

No careful father's counsel — nothing's heard, 

For nothing is, but all oblivion, 

Dust, and an endless darkness. 

20. Suddenly the notes of the deep-laboring organ burst 
upon the ear, falling with doubled and redoubled intensity, 
and rolling, as it were, huge billows of sound. How well do 
their volume and grandeur accord with this mighty building ! 
With what pomp do they swell through its vast vaults, and 
breathe their awful harmony through these caves of death, 
and make the silent sepulchre vocal ! — And now they rise 
in triumph and acclamation, heaving higher and higher their 
accordant notes, and piling sound on sound. — And now they 
pause, and the soft voices of the choir break out into sweet 
gushes of melody ; they soar aloft, and warble along the roof, 
and seem to play about these lofty vaults like the pure airs of 
heaven. Again the pealing organ heaves its thriUing thunders, 
compressing air into music, and rolling it forth upon the soul. 
What long-drawn cadences ! What solemn sweeping con- 
cords ! It grows more and more dense and powerful — it fills 
the vast pile, and seems to jar the very walls — the ear is 
stunned — the senses are overwhelmed. And .now it is 
winding up in full jubilee — it is rising from the earth to 
heaven — the very soul seems rapt away and floated up- 
wards on this swelling tide of harmony ! 

21. I sat for some time lost in that kind of reverie which 
a strain of music is apt sometimes to inspire : the shadows of 
evening were gradually thickening round me ; the monuments 
began to cast deeper and deeper gloom : and the distant 
clock again gave token of the slowly waning day. 



146 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

22. I rose and prepared to leave the abbey. As I de- 
scended the flight of steps which lead into the body of the 
building, my eye was caught by the shrine of Edward the Con- 
fessor, and I ascended the small staircase that conducts to 
it, to take from thence a general survey of this wilderness 
of tombs. The shrine is elevated upon a kind of platform, 
and close around it are the sepulchres of various kings and 
queens. From this eminence the eye looks down between 
pillars and funeral trophies to the chapels and chambers 
below, crowded with tombs, — where warriors, prelates, 
courtiers, and statesmen lie mouldering in their "beds of 
darkness." Close by me stood the great chair of coronation, 
rudely carved of oak, in the barbarous taste of a remote and 
Gothic age. The scene seemed almost as if contrived, with 
theatrical artifice, to produce an effect upon the beholder. 
Here was a type of the beginning and the end of human pomp 
and power; here it was literally but a step from the throne 
to the sepulchre. Would not one think that these incongru- 
ous mementos had been gathered together as a lesson to living 
greatness ? — to show it, even in the moment of its proudest 
exaltation, the neglect and dishonor to which it must soon 
arrive ; how soon that crown which encircles its brow must 
pass away, and it must lie down in the dust and disgraces of 
the tomb, and be trampled upon by the feet of the meanest 
of the multitude. For, strange to tell, even the grave is here 
no longer a sanctuary. There is a shocking levity in some 
natures, which leads them to sport with awful and hallowed 
things; and there are base minds, which delight to revenge 
on the illustrious dead the abject homage and grovelling 
servility which they pay to the living. The coffin of Edward 
the Confessor has been broken open, and his remains de- 
spoiled of their funereal ornaments; the sceptre has been 
stolen from the hand of the imperious Elizabeth, and the 
effigy of Henry the Fifth lies headless. Not a royal monu- 
ment but bears some proof how false and fugitive is the hom- 
age of mankind. Some are plundered; some mutilated; 
some covered with ribaldry and insult, — all more or less 
outraged and dishonored ! 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY 



147 



23. The last beams of day were now faintly streaming 
through the painted windows in high vaults above me; the 
lower parts of the abbey were already wrapped in the ob- 
scurity of twilight. The chapels and aisles grew darker and 
darker. The effigies of the kings faded into shadows; the 
marble figures of the monuments assumed strange shapes 
in the uncertain 



light; the evening 
breeze crept 
through the aisles 
like the cold breath 
of the grave ; and 
even the distant 
footfall of a verger, 
traversing the 
Poet's Corner, had 
something strange 
and dreary in its 
sound. I slowly 
retraced my morn- 
ing's walk, and as 
I passed out at the 
portal of the clois- 
ters, the door, 
closing with a jar- 
ring noise behind 
me, filled the whole 
building with 
echoes. 

24. 1 endeavored 
to form some ar- 
rangement in my mind of the objects I had been contem- 
plating but found they were already fallen into indistinctness 
and confusion. Names, inscriptions, trophies, had all become 
confounded in my recollection, though I had scarcely taken my 
foot from off the threshold. What, thought I, is this vast 
assemblage of sepulchres but a treasury of humiliation ; a huge 
pile of reiterated homilies on the emptiness of renown, and the 




Tomb of Edward the Confessor 



148 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

certainty of oblivion ! It is, indeed, the empire of death — 
his great shadowy palace, where he sits in state, mocking at 
the relics of human glory, and spreading dust and forgetful- 
ness on the monuments of princes. How idle a boast, after 
all, is the immortality of a name. Time is ever silently turn- 
ing over his pages ; we are too much engrossed by the story 
of the present, to think of the characters and anecdotes that 
gave interest to the past ; and each age is a volume thrown 
aside to be speedily forgotten. The idol of to-day pushes the 
hero of yesterday out of our recollection; and will, in turn, 
be supplanted by his successor of to-morrow. *' Our fathers," 
says Sir Thomas Browne, "find their graves in our short 
memories, and sadly tell us how we may be buried in our sur- 
vivors." History fades into fable; fact becomes clouded 
with doubt and controversy; the inscription moulders from 
the tablet; the statue falls from the pedestal. Columns, 
arches, pyramids, what are they but heaps of sand ; and their 
epitaphs, but characters written in the dust? What is the 
security of a tomb, or the perpetuity of an embalmment? 
The remains of Alexander the Great have been scattered to 
the wind, and his empty sarcophagus is now the mere curi- 
osity of a museum. ''The Egyptian mummies, which Cam- 
byses or time hath spared, avarice now consumeth ; Mizraim 
cures wounds, and Pharaoh is sold for balsams." ^ 

25. What then is to insure this pile which now towers above 
me from sharing the fate of mightier mausoleums? The 
time must come when its gilded vaults, which now spring so 
loftily, shall lie in rubbish beneath the feet ; when, instead of 
the sound of melody and praise, the wind shall whistle through 
the broken arches, and the owl hoot from the shattered 
tower, — when the garish sunbeam shall break into these 
gloomy mansions of death, and the ivy twine round the fallen 
column ; and the foxglove hang its blossoms about the name- 
less urn, as if in mockery of the dead. Thus man passes 
away; his name perishes from record and recollection; his 
history is as a tale that is told, and his very monument 
becomes a ruin.^ 

1 Sir T. Browne. ^ For notes on Westminster Abbey, see Appendix. 



THE MUTABILITY OF LITERATURE 
A COLLOQUY IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY 

[Comment. — "The Mutability of Literature " has been in- 
cluded in this edition of ''The Sketch-Book" so that it may 
be read with "Westminster Abbey." The library which is 
the scene of the reveries here set down is in one of the build- 
ings belonging to Westminster. From the middle of the 
east side of the cloister opens the two-arched entrance to the 
chapter-house. In Irving's day, the northern arch and one- 
half the entrance were walled in to enclose a stair which led 
to the northern end of the library. Since then, the chapter- 
house entrance has been removed and an earlier stone stair 
restored, leading from the same east cloister up through the 
floor of the library to a point nearer the centre of the hall. 
In the olden time, the hall, one end of which is now the 
library, was the dormitory of the monks, and for their con- 
venience in going to night services, a narrow passage led from 
its northern end directly into the southern transept of the 
minster. 

Westminster School, to which the library belongs, dates from 
the dissolution of the monastic house of Henry VIII, who used 
a part of the confiscated revenues to found a bishopric and 
establish a school for forty scholars with an upper and an under 
master. School and bishopric were both abolished under 
Queen Mary, but Elizabeth restored the school practically in 
accordance with her father's plan, and established the Dean 
and twelve Prebendaries under the name of the college or 
collegiate church of St. Peter, Westminster, with the distinct 
intention of creating a great academical as well as an ecclesi- 
astical body. There were forty scholars, as before, on the 
Queen's foundation, who were to be supported at Westminster. 
Besides these, other students, eighty in all, were admitted either 
as pensioners, that is, as boarding pupils, or as townsmen of West- 
minster. Students from outside of the city of Westminster 
were required to become townsmen by securing some house- 
holder who would take them into his house and be responsible 
for their bills and conduct. The charter and statutes which 
were granted for the government of this school remain in force 
to the present time, and it is in accordance with them that 
Latin plays are produced at intervals by the pupils of the 

149 



150 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

school. The privilege of Westminster for prayers has belonged 
to the school immemorially, and each morning the scholars 
assemble for this purpose in the Poets' Corner. 

Dean Stanley, in "Historical Memorials of Westminster 
Abbey," quotes Irving's description of the library as better 
than any he could himself write. D.] 

I know that all beneath the moon decays. 
And what by mortals in this world is brought. 
In time's great period shall return to nought. 

I know that all the muse's heavenly lays, 
With toil of sprite which are so dearly bought, 
As idle sounds, of few or none are sought. 

That there is nothing lighter than mere praise. 

Drummond of Hawthornden. 

1. There are certain half -dreaming moods of mind, in 
which we naturally steal away from noise and glare, and seek 
some quiet haunt, where we may indulge our reveries and 
build our air-castles undisturbed. In such a mood I was 
loitering about the old gray cloisters of Westminster Abbey, 
enjoying that luxury of wandering thought which one is apt 
to dignify with the name of reflection; when suddenly an 
interruption of madcap boys from Westminster School, 
playing at football, broke in upon the monastic stillness of the 
place, making the vaulted passages and mouldering tombs 
echo with their merriment. I sought to take refuge from 
their noise by penetrating still deeper into the solitudes of 
the pile, and applied to one of the vergers for admission to 
the library. He conducted me through a portal rich with the 
crumbling sculpture of former ages, which opened upon a 
gloomy passage leading to the chapter-house and the 
chamber in which doomsday-book is deposited. Just within 
the passage is a small door on the left. To this the verger 
applied a key; it was double locked, and opened with some 
difficulty, as if seldom used. We now ascended a dark, 
narrow staircase, and, passing through a second door, 
entered the library. 

2. I found myself in a lofty antique hall, the roof supported 
by massive joists of old English oak. It was soberly lighted 
by a row of Gothic windows at a considerable height from 
the floor, and which apparently opened upon the roofs of the 



THE MUTABILITY OF LITERATURE 



151 



cloisters. An ancient picture of some reverend dignitary of 
the church in his robes hung over the fireplace. Around the 
hall and in a small gallery were the books, arranged in carved 
oaken cases. They consisted principally of old polemical 
writers, and were much more worn by time than use. In the 
centre of the library was a solitary table with two or three 



Tf~"~~m^^»Mli 




The Library, Westminster 

books on it, an inkstand without ink, and a few pens parched 
by long disuse. The place seemed fitted for quiet study and 
profound meditation. It was buried deep among the massive 
walls of the abbey, and shut up from the tumult of the world. 
I could only hear now and then the shouts of the school- 
boys faintly swelling from the cloisters, and the sound of a 
bell tolling for prayers, echoing soberly along the roofs of the 



152 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

abbey. By degrees the shouts of merriment grew fainter and 
fainter, and at length died away ; the bell ceased to toll, and a 
profound silence reigned through the dusky hall. 

3. I had taken down a little thick quarto, curiously bound 
in parchment, with brass clasps, and seated myself at the 
table in a venerable elbow-chair. Instead of reading, however, 
I was beguiled by the solemn monastic air, and lifeless quiet 
of the place, into a train of musing. As I looked around 
upon the old volumes in their mouldering covers, thus ranged 
on the shelves, and apparently never disturbed in their repose, 
I could not but consider the library a kind of literary cata- 
comb, where authors, like mummies, are piously entombed, 
and left to blacken and moulder in dusty oblivion. 

4. How much, thought I, has each of these volumes, now 
thrust aside with such indifference, cost some aching head ! 
how many weary days ! how many sleepless nights ! How 
have their authors buried themselves in the solitude of cells 
and cloisters ; shut themselves up from the face of man, and 
the still more blessed face of nature ; and devoted themselves 
to painful research and intense reflection ! And all for what ? 
to occupy an inch of dusty shelf, — to have the title of their 
works read now and then in a future age, by some drowsy 
churchman or casual straggler like myself; and in another 
age to be lost, even to remembrance. Such is the amount of 
this boasted immortality. A mere temporary rumor, a local 
sound ; like the tone of that bell which has just tolled among 
these towers, filling the ear for a moment — lingering tran- 
siently in echo — and then passing away like a thing that was 
not ! 

5. While I sat half murmuring, half meditating these 
unprofitable speculations, with my head resting on my hand, 
I was thrumming with the other hand upon the quarto, until 
I accidentally loosened the clasps; when, to my utter aston- 
ishment, the little book gave two or three yawns, like one 
awaking from a deep sleep; then a husky hem; and at 
length began to talk. At first its voice was very hoarse and 
broken, being much troubled by a cobweb which some studi- 
ous spider had woven across it; and having probably con- 



THE MUTABILITY OF LITEKATUKE 153 

tracted a cold from long exposure to the chills and damps 
of the abbey. In a short time, however, it became more dis- 
tinct, and I soon found it an exceedingly fluent, conversable 
little tome. Its language, to be sure, was rather quaint and 
obsolete, and its pronunciation, what, in the present day, 
would be deemed barbarous ; but I shall endeavor, as far as I 
am able, to render it in modern parlance. 

6. It began with railings about the neglect of the world — 
about merit being suffered to languish in obscurity, and other 
such commonplace topics of literary repining, and complained 
bitterly that it had not been opened for more than two cen- 
turies. That the dean only looked now and then into the 
library, sometimes took down a volume or two, trifled with 
them for a few moments, and then returned them to their 
shelves. "What a plague do they mean,^' said the little 
quarto, which I began to perceive was somewhat choleric, 
"what a plague do they mean by keeping several thousand 
volumes of us shut up here, and watched by a set of old ver- 
gers, like so many beauties in a harem, merely to be looked 
at now and then by the dean ? Books were written to give 
pleasure and to be enjoyed; and I would have a rule passed 
that the dean should pay each of us a visit at least once a year ; 
or, if he is not equal to the task, let them once in a while turn 
loose the whole School of Westminster among us, that at any 
rate we may now and then have an airing." 

7. "Softly, my worthy friend," replied I; "you are not 
aware how much better you are off than most books of your 
generation. By being stored away in this ancient library, 
you are like the treasured remains of those saints and mon- 
archs which lie enshrined in the adjoining chapels; while the 
remains of your contemporary mortals, left to the ordinary 
course of nature, have long since returned to dust." 

8. " Sir," said the little tome, ruffling his leaves and looking 
big, "I was written for all the world, not for the bookworms 
of an abbey. I was intended to circulate from hand to hand, 
like other great contemporary works; but here have I been 
clasped up for more than two centuries, and might have 
silently fallen a prey to these worms that are playing the very 



154 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

vengeance with my intestines, if you had not by chance given 
me an opportunity of uttering a few last words before I go 
to pieces." 

9. "My good friend, "rejoined I, "had you been left to the 
circulation of which you speak, you would long ere this have 
been no more. To judge from your physiognomy, you are now 
well stricken in years : very few of your contemporaries can 
be at present in existence ; and those few owe their longevity 
to being immured like yourself in old libraries ; w^hich, suffer 
me to add, instead of likening to harems, you might more 
properly and gratefully have compared to those infirmaries 
attached to religious establishments, for the benefit of the 
old and decrepit, and where, by quiet fostering and no em- 
ployment, they often endure to an amazingly good-for-nothing 
old age. You talk of your contemporaries as if in circulation, 
— where do we meet with their works ? What do we hear 
of Robert Groteste, of Lincoln? No one could have toiled 
harder than he for immortality. He is said to have written 
nearly two hundred volumes. He built, as it were, a pyramid 
of books to perpetuate his name ; but, alas ! the pyramid has 
long since fallen, and only a few fragments are scattered in 
various libraries, where they are scarcely disturbed even by 
the antiquarian. What do we hear of Giraldus Cambrensis, 
the historian, antiquary, philosopher, theologian, and poet? 
He declined two bishoprics, that he might shut himself up and 
write for posterity: but posterity never inquires after his 
labors. What of Henry of Huntingdon, who, besides a 
learned history of England, wrote a treatise on the contempt 
of the world, which the world has revenged by forgetting him ? 
What is quoted of Joseph of Exeter, styled the miracle of hi? 
age in classical composition ? Of his three great heroic poemr 
one is lost forever excepting a mere fragment ; the others are 
known only to a few of the curious in literature ; and as to 
his love-verses and epigrams, they have entirely disappeared. 
What is in current use of John Wallis, the Franciscan, who 
acquired the name of the tree of life ? Of William of Malms- 
bury ; — of Simeon of Durham ; — of Benedict of Peter- 
borough; — of John Hanvill of St. Albans; — of " 



THE MUTABILITY OF LITERATURE 155 

10. "Prithee, friend," cried the quarto, in a testy tone, 
"how old do you think me ? You are talking of authors that 
lived long before my time, and wrote either in Latin or French, 
so that they in a manner expatriated themselves, and de- 
served to be forgotten ; ^ but I, sir, was ushered into the 
world from the press of the renowned Wynkyn de Worde. 
I was written in my own native tongue, at a time when the 
language had become fixed ; and indeed I was considered a 
model of pure and elegant English." 

11. (I should observe that these remarks were couched 
in such intolerably antiquated terms, that I have had infinite 
difficulty in rendering them into modern phraseology.) 

12. "I cry your mercy," said I, "for mistaking your age; 
but it matters little : almost all the writers of your time have 
likewise passed into f orgetf ulness ; and De Worde 's publica- 
tions are mere literary rarities among book-collectors. The 
purity and stability of language, too, on which you found your 
claims to perpetuity, have been the fallacious dependence of 
authors of every age, even back to the times of the worthy 
Robert of Gloucester, who wrote his history in rhymes of mon- 
grel Saxon.2 Even now many talk of Spenser's ' Well of 
pure English undefiled' as if the language ever sprang from 
a well or fountain-head, and was not rather a mere confluence 
of various tongues, perpetually subject to changes and inter- 
mixtures. It is this which has made English Hterature so 
extremely mutable, and the reputation built upon it so 
fleeting. Unless thought can be committed to something 

1 In Latin and French hath many soueraine wittes had great delyte 
to endite, and have many noble thinges fulfilde, but certes there ben 
some that speaken their poisye in French, of which speche the French- 
men have as good a fantasy e as we have in hearying of Frenchmen's 
Enghshe. — Chaucer's Testament of Love. 

^Holinshed, in his Chronicle, observes, "afterwards, also by deli- 
gent travell of Geffry Chaucer and of John Gowre, in the time of 
Richard the Second, and after them of John Scogan and John Lyd- 
gate, monke of Berrie, our said toong was brought to an excellent 
passe, notwithstanding that it never came unto the type of perfection 
until the time of Queen Elizabeth, wherein John Jewell, Bishop of 
Sarum, John Fox, and sundrie learned and excellent writers have 
fully accomplished the ornature of the same, to their great praise and 
immortal conmaendation. " 



156 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

more permanent and unchangeable than such a medium, even 
thought must share the fate of everything else, and fall into 
decay. This should serve as a check upon the vanity and 
exultation of the most popular writer. He finds the language 
in which he has embarked his fame gradually altering, and 
subject to the dilapidations of time and the caprice of fashion. 
He looks back and beholds the early authors of his country, 
once the favorites of their day, supplanted by modern writers. 
A few short ages have covered them with obscurity, and their 
merits can only be relished by the quaint taste of the book- 
worm. And such, he anticipates, will be the fate of his own 
work, which, however it may be admired in its day, and held 
up as a model of purity, will in the course of years grow an- 
tiquated and obsolete, until it shall become almost as unin- 
telligible in its native land as an Egyptian obelisk, or one 
of those Runic inscriptions said to exist in the deserts of 
Tartary. I declare,'' added I, with some emotion, "when 
I contemplate a modern library, filled with new works, in all the 
bravery of rich gilding and binding, I feel disposed to sit down 
and weep ; like the good Xerxes, when he surveyed his army, 
pranked out in all the splendor of military array, and re- 
flected that in one hundred years not one of them would be in 
existence \" 

13. "Ah," said the little quarto, with a heavy sigh, "I see 
how it is; these modern scribblers have superseded all the 
good old authors. I suppose nothing is read nowadays but 
Sir Philip Sydney's 'Arcadia,' Sackville's stately plays, and 
' Mirror for Magistrates,' or the fine-spun euphuisms of the 
'unparalleled John Lyly.'" 

14. "There you are again mistaken," said I; "the writers 
whom you suppose in vogue, because they happened to be 
so when you were last in circulation, have long since had their 
day. Sir Philip Sydney's 'Arcadia,' the immortality of 
which was so fondly predicted by his admirers,^ and which, 

^ Live ever sweete booke ; the simple image of his gentle witt, 
and the golden-pillar of his noble courage ; and ever notify unto the 
world that thy writer was the secretary of eloquence, the breath of 
the muses, the honey-bee of the daintyest flowers of witt and arte, 



THE MUTABILITY OF LITERATURE 157 

in truth, is full of noble thoughts, delicate images, and graceful 
turns of language, is now scarcely ever mentioned. Sackville 
has strutted into obscurity; and even Lyly, though his 
writings were once the delight of a court, and apparently per- 
petuated by a proverb, is now scarcely known even by name. 
A whole crowd of authors who wrote and wrangled at the 
time, have likewise gone down, with all their writings and 
their controversies. Wave after wave of succeeding literature 
has rolled over them, until they are buried so deep, that it is 
only now and then that some industrious diver after frag- 
ments of antiquity brings up a specimen for the gratification 
of the curious. 

15. "For my part," I continued, "I consider this muta- 
bility of language a wise precaution of Providence for the 
benefit of the world at large, and of authors in particular. To 
reason from analogy, we daily behold the varied and beautiful 
tribes of vegetables springing up, flourishing, adorning the 
fields for a short time, and then fading into dust, to make way 
for their successors. Were not this the case, the fecundity of 
nature would be a grievance instead of a blessing. The earth 
would groan with rank and excessive vegetation, and its sur- 
face become a tangled wilderness. In like manner the works 
of genius and learning decline and make way for subsequent 
productions. Language gradually varies, and with it fade 
away the writings of authors who have flourished their allotted 
time; otherwise, the creative powers of genius would over- 
stock the world, and the mind would be completely bewil- 
dered in the endless mazes of hterature. Formerly there were 
some restraints on this excessive multiplication. Works had 
to be transcribed by hand, which was a slow and laborious 
operation ; they were written either on parchment, which was 
expensive, so that one work was often erased to make way 
for another ; or on papyrus, which was fragile and extremely 
perishable. Authorship was a limited and unprofitable craft, 

the pith of morale and intellectual virtues, the arme of Bellona in the 
field, the tonge of Suada in the chamber, the sprite of Practise in 
esse, and the paragon of excellency in print. — Harvey Pierce's 
Supererogation. 



158 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

pursued chiefly by monks in the leisure and sohtude of their 
cloisters. The accumulation of manuscripts was slow and 
costly, and confined almost entirely to monasteries. To these 
circumstances it may, in some measure, be owing that we 
have not been inundated by the intellect of antiquity; that 
the fountains of thought have not been broken up, and modern 
genius drowned in the deluge. But the inventions of paper 
and the press have put an end to all these restraints. 
They have made every one a writer, and enabled every mind 
to pour itself into print, and diffuse itself over the whole 
intellectual world. The consequences are alarming. The 
stream of literature has swollen into a torrent — augmented 
into a river — expanded into a sea. A few centuries since, 
five or six hundred manuscripts constituted a great library; 
but what would you say to libraries such as actually exist 
containing three or four hundred thousand volumes ; legions 
of authors at the same time busy ; and the press going on with 
activity, to double and quadruple the number ? Unless some 
unforeseen mortality should break out among the progeny 
of the muse, now that she has become so prolific, I tremble for 
posterity. I fear the mere fluctuation of language will not be 
sufficient. Criticism may do much. It increases with the 
increase of literature, and resembles one of those salutary 
checks on population spoken of by economists. All possible 
encouragement, therefore, should be given to the growth of 
critics, good or bad. But I fear all wifl be in vain ; let criticism 
do what it may, writers will write, printers will print, and the 
world will inevitably be overstocked with good books. It 
will soon be the employment of a lifetime merely to learn 
their names. Many a man of passable information, at the 
present day, reads scarcely anything but reviews ; and before 
long a man of erudition will be little better than a mere walk- 
ing catalogue." 

16. "My very good sir," said the Httle quarto, yawning 
most drearily in my face, "excuse my interrupting you, but 
I perceive you are rather given to prose. I would ask the fate 
of an author who was making some noise just as I left the 
world. His reputation, however, was considered quite tern- 



THE MUTABILITY OF LITERATURE 159 

porary. The learned shook their heads at him, for he was 
a poor half-educated varlet, that knew little of Latin, and 
nothing of Greek, and had been obliged to run the country 
for deer-stealing. I think his name was Shakspeare. I pre- 
sume, he soon sunk into oblivion." 

17. "On the contrary, '' said I, "it is owing to that very 
man that the literature of his period has experienced a dura- 
tion beyond the ordinary term of English literature. There 
rise authors now and then, who seem proof against the muta- 
bility of language, because they have rooted themselves in 
the unchanging principles of human nature. They are like 
gigantic trees that we sometimes see on the banks of a stream ; 
which, by their vast and deep roots, penetrating through the 
mere surface, and laying hold on the very foundations of the 
earth, preserve the soil around them from being swept away 
by the ever-flowing current and hold up many a neighboring 
plant, and, perhaps, worthless weed, to perpetuity. Such 
is the case with Shakspeare, whom we behold defying the 
encroachments of time, retaining in modern use the language 
and literature of his day, and giving duration to many an 
indifferent author merely from having flourished in his vicinity. 
But even he, I grieve to say, is gradually assuming the tint of 
age, and his whole form is overrun by a profusion of commen- 
tators, who, like clambering vines and creepers, almost bury 
the noble plant that upholds them." 

18. Here the little quarto began to heave his sides and 
chuckle, until at length he broke out in a plethoric fit of 
laughter that had wellnigh choked him, by reason of his 
excessive corpulency. "Mighty well!" cried he, as soon as 
he could recover breath, "mighty well! and so you would 
persuade me that the literature of an age is to be perpetuated 
by a vagabond deer-stealer ! by a man without learning ; 
by a poet, forsooth — a poet." And here he wheezed forth 
another fit of laughter. 

19. I confess that I felt somewhat nettled at this rudeness, 
which, however, I pardoned on account of his having flour- 
ished in a less polished age. I determined, nevertheless, not 
to give up my point. 



160 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

20. "Yes," resumed I, positively, "a, poet; for of all 
writers he has the best chance for immortality. Others may 
write from the head, but he writes from the heart, and the 
heart will always understand him. He is the faithful por- 
trayer of nature, whose features are always the same, and 
always interesting. Prose-writers are voluminous and 
unwieldy; their pages are crowded with common-places, 
and their thoughts expanded into tediousness. But with 
the true poet everything is terse, touching, or brilliant. He 
gives the choicest thoughts in the choicest language. He 
illustrates them by everything that he sees most striking in 
nature and art. He enriches them by pictures of human life, 
such as it is passing before him. His writings, therefore, 
contain the spirit, the aroma, if I may use the phrase, of the 
age in which he lives. They are caskets which enclose 
within a small compass the wealth of the language, — its 
family jewels, which are thus transmitted in a portable form 
to posterity. The setting may occasionally be antiquated, 
and require now and then to be renewed, as in the case of 
Chaucer; but the brilliancy and intrinsic value of the gems 
continue unaltered. Cast a look back over the long reach 
of literary history. What vast valleys of dulness, filled 
with monkish legends and academical controversies ! what 
bogs of theological speculations ! what dreary wastes of 
metaphysics. Here and there only do we behold the heaven- 
illuminated bards, elevated like beacons on their widely 
separate heights, to transmit the pure light of poetical in- 
telligence from age to age." ^ 

^ Thorow earth and waters deepe, 

The pen by skill doth passe : 
And featly nyps the worldes abuse, 

And shoes us in a glasse, 
The vertu and the vice 

Of every wight aly ve ; 
The honey comb that bee doth make 

Is not so sweet in hyve, 
As are the golden leves 

That drop from poet's head ! 
Which doth surmount our common talke 

As farre as dross hoth lead. 

Churchyard. 



THE MUTABILITY OF LITERATURE 161 

21. I was Just about to launch forth into eulogiums upon 
the poets of the day, when the sudden opening of the door 
caused me to turn my head. It was the verger, who came to 
inform me that it was time to close the library. I sought 
to have a parting word with the quarto, but the worthy little 
tome was silent ; the clasps were closed ; and it looked per- 
fectly unconscious of all that had passed. I have been to the 
library two or three times since, and have endeavored to draw 
it into further conversation, but in vain; and whether all 
this rambling colloquy actually took place, or whether it was 
another of those odd day-dreams to which I am subject, I 
have never to this moment been able to discover. 



JOHN BULL 

[Comment. — In the essay, "John Bull," Irving makes the 
subject of caricatures in general, and also in particular, serve 
as an excuse for a discourse upon the traits and characteristics 
of the English. He discusses first the nature of caricature, then 
its relation to real traits and characteristics in the originals; 
after that, he speaks of the use of caricatures as a means of 
defining in the mind of an alien and a stranger national char- 
acteristics. From this beginning, he readily introduces his own 
purpose of using the popular caricature of John Bull as a text 
for discourse upon the peculiarities, tastes, manner of life, and 
qualities of the English. In a recent story, "An Enforced 
Habitation," Rudyard Kipling has presented, in sharp con- 
trast, national characteristics of the English and of Americans. 
This story illustrates more than one of the qualities remarked 
upon by Irving. In "Bracebridge Hall " will be found several 
essays illustrating Irving's idea of the English. These may be 
read for comparison and reference, especially, "An English 
Country Gentleman," "English Gravity," etc. D.] 

An old song made by an aged old pate, 
Of an old worshipful gentleman who had a great estate, 
That kept a brave old house at a bountiful rate, 
And an old porter to relieve the poor at his gate. 
With an old study fill'd full of learned old books, 
With an old reverend chaplain, you might know him by his looks, 
With an old buttery hatch worn quite off the hooks, 
And an old kitchen that maintained half-a-dozen old cooks. 

Like an old courtier, etc. 

— Old Song. 

1. There is no species of humor in which the English 
more excel than that which consists in caricaturing and giving 
ludicrous appellations, or nicknames. In this way they have 
whimsically designated, not merely individuals, but nations; 
and, in their fondness for pushing a joke, they have not spared 
even themselves. One would think that, in personifying 
itself, a nation would be apt to picture something grand, heroic, 
and imposing ; but it is characteristic of the popular humor of 
the English, and of their love for what is blunt, comic, and 

162 



JOHN BULL 



163 



familiar, that they have embodied their national oddities 
in the figure of a sturdy, corpulent old fellow, with a three- 
cornered hat, red waistcoat, leather breeches, and stout oaken 
cudgel. Thus they have taken a singular delight in exhibit- 
ing their most private foibles in a laughable point of view ; 
and have been so successful in their delineations, that there 
is scarcely a being in actual existence more absolutely present 
to the public mind than that eccentric personage, John Bull. 

2. Perhaps the continual contemplation of the 
character thus drawn of them has contributed to 





John Bull and his Sailors, John Bull playing on the 
1807 Bass Violin (base villain) 

From caricatures reproduced in Wright's "England 
under the House of Hanover." 

fix it upon the nation, and thus to give reality to what at 
first may have been painted in a great measure from the 
imagination. Men are apt to acquire peculiarities that are 
continually ascribed to them. The common orders of Eng- 
lish seem wonderfully captivated with the beau ideal which 
they have formed of John Bull, and endeavor to act up to 
the broad caricature that is perpetually before their eyes. 
Unluckily, they sometimes make their boasted Bull-ism an 
apology for their prejudice or grossness; and this I have 
especially noticed among those truly homebred and genuine 
sons of the soil who have never migrated beyond the sound 
of Bow-bells. If one of these should be a little uncouth in 
speech, and apt to utter impertinent truths, he confesses 
that he is a real John Bull, and always speaks his mind. 
If he now and then flies into an unreasonable burst of pas- 
sion about trifles, he observes, that John Bull is a choleric 



164 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

old blade, but then his passion is over in a moment, and he 
bears no malice. If he betrays a coarseness of taste, and an 
insensibility to foreign refinements, he thanks heaven for his 
ignorance — he is a plain John Bull, and has no relish for 
frippery and knick-knacks. His very proneness to be gulled 
by strangers, and to pay extravagantly for absurdities, is 
excused under the plea of munificence — for John is always 
more generous than wise. 

3. Thus, under the name of John Bull, he will contrive 
to argue every fault into a merit, and will frankly convict 
himself of being the honestest fellow in existence. 

4. However little, therefore, the character may have suited 
in the first instance, it has gradually adapted itself to the 
nation, or rather they have adapted themselves to each other ; 
and a stranger who wishes to study English peculiarities, may 
gather much valuable information from the innumerable 
portraits of John Bull, as exhibited in the windows of the 
caricature-shops. Still, however, he is one of those fertile 
humorists, that are continually throwing out new portraits, 
and presenting different aspects from different points of view ; 
and, often as he has been described, I cannot resist the temp- 
tation to give a slight sketch of him, such as he has met my eye. 

5. John Bull, to all appearance, is a plain, downright 
matter-of-fact fellow, with much less of poetry about him than 
rich prose. There is little of romance in his nature, but a 
vast deal of strong natural feeling. He excels in humor more 
than in wit ; is jolly rather than gay ; melancholy rather than 
morose; can easily be moved to a sudden tear, or surprised 
into a broad laugh ; but he loathes sentiment, and has no 
turn for light pleasantry. He is a boon-companion, if you 
allow him to have his humor, and to talk about himself ; and 
he will stand by a friend in a quarrel, with life and purse, 
however soundly he may be cudgelled. 

6. In this last respect, to tell the truth, he has a propensity 
to be somewhat too ready. He is a busy-minded personage, 
who thinks not merely for himself and family, but for all the 
country round, and is most generously disposed to be every- 
body's champion. He is continually volunteering his services 



J0H2?f BULL 165 

to settle his neighbors' affairs, and takes it in great dudgeon 
if they engage in any matter of consequence without asking 
his advice ; though he seldom engages in any friendly office of 
the kind without finishing by getting into a squabble with all 
parties, and then railing bitterly at their ingratitude. He 
unluckily took lessons in his youth in the noble science of 
defence, and having accomplished himself in the use of his 
limbs and his weapons, and become a perfect master at box- 
ing and cudgel-play, he has had a troublesome life of it ever 
since. He cannot hear of a quarrel between the most distant 
of his neighbors, but he begins incontinently to fumble with 
the head of his cudgel, and consider whether his interest 
or honor does not require that he should meddle in the broil. 
Indeed he has extended his relations of pride and policy so 
completely over the whole country, that no event can take 
place, without infringing some of his finely-spun rights and 
dignities. Couched in his little domain, with these filaments 
stretching forth in every direction, he is hke some choleric, 
bottle-bellied old spider, who has woven his web over a whole 
chamber, so that a fly cannot buzz, nor a breeze blow, without 
starthng his repose, and causing him to sally forth wrathfuUy 
from his den. 

7. Though really a good-hearted, good-tempered old fellow 
at bottom, yet he is singularly fond of being in the midst of 
contention. It is one of his peculiarities, however, that he 
only rehshes the beginning of an affray ; he always goes into 
a fight with alacrity, but comes out of it grumbhng even when 
victorious ; and though no one fights with more obstinacy to 
carry a contested point, yet, when the battle is over, and he 
comes to the reconciliation, he is so much taken up with the 
mere shaking of hands, that he is apt to let his antagonist 
pocket all that they have been quarrelling about. It is not, 
therefore, fighting that he ought so much to be on his guard 
against, as making friends. It is difficult to cudgel him out 
of a farthing ; but put him in a good-humor, and you may bar- 
gain him out of all the money in his pocket. He is like a 
stout ship, which will weather the roughest storm uninjured, 
but roll its masts overboard in the succeeding calm. 



166 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

8. He is a little fond of playing the magnifico abroad ; of 
pulling out a long purse ; flinging his money bravely about at 
boxing-matches, horse-races, cock-fights, and carrying a high 
head among " gentlemen of the fancy ; " but immediately after 
one of these fits of extravagance he will be taken with violent 
qualms of economy; stop short at the most trivial expen- 
diture; talk desperately of being ruined and brought upon 
the parish; and, in such moods, will not pay the smallest 
tradesman's bill without violent altercation. He is in fact 
the most punctual and discontented paymaster in the world ; 
drawing his coin out of his breeches pocket with infinite 
reluctance; paying to the uttermost farthing, but accom- 
panying every guinea with a growl. 

9. With all his talk of economy, however, he is a bountiful 
provider, and a hospitable housekeeper. His economy is of 
a whimsical kind, its chief object being to devise how he may 
afford to be extravagant ; for he will begrudge himself a beef- 
steak and pint of port one day, that he may roast an ox 
whole, broach a hogshead of ale, and treat all his neighbors 
on the next. 

10. His domestic establishment is enormously expensive; 
not so much from any great outward parade, as from the great 
consumption of solid beef and pudding; the vast number of 
followers he feeds and clothes; and his singular disposition 
to pay hugely for small services. He is a most kind and indul- 
gent master, and, provided his servants humor his pecu- 
liarities, flatter his vanity a little now and then, and do not 
peculate grossly on him before his face, they may manage him 
to perfection. Everything that lives on him seems to thrive 
and grow fat. His house-servants are well paid, and pampered, 
and have little to do. His horses are sleek and lazy, and 
prance slowly before his state carriage ; and his house-dogs 
sleep quietly about the door, and will hardly bark at a house- 
breaker. 

11. His family mansion is an old castellated manor-house, 
gray with age, and of a most venerable though weather-beaten 
appearance. It has been built upon no regular plan, but is 
a vast accumulation of parts, erected in various tastes and 



JOHN BULL 167 

ages. The centre bears evident traces of Saxon architecture, 
and is as solid as ponderous stone and old English oak can 
make it. Like all the reHcs of that style, it is full of obscure 
passages, intricate mazes, and dusky chambers ; and though 
these have been partially lighted up in modern days, yet there 
are many places where you must still grope in the dark. 
Additions have been made to the original edifice from time to 
time, and great alterations have taken place; towers and 
battlements have been erected during wars and tumults; 
wings built in time of peace; and outhouses, lodges, and 
offices run up according to the whim or convenience of dif- 
ferent generations, until it has become one of the most spa- 
cious, rambling tenements imaginable. An entire wing is 
taken up with the family chapel, a reverend pile, that must 
have been exceedingly sumptuous, and, indeed, in spite of 
having been altered and simplified at various periods, has still 
a look of solemn religious pomp. Its walls within are storied 
with the monuments of John's ancestors; and it is snugly 
fitted up with soft cushions and well-lined chairs, where such 
of his family as are inclined to church services may doze 
comfortably in the discharge of their duties. 

12. To keep up this chapel has cost John much money; 
but he is stanch in his religion, and piqued in his zeal, from the 
circumstance that many dissenting chapels have been erected 
in his vicinity, and several of his neighbors, with whom he has 
had quarrels, are strong Papists. 

13. To do the duties of the chapel he maintains at a large 
expense, a pious and portly family chaplain. He is a most 
learned and decorous personage, and a truly well-bred Chris- 
tian, who always backs the old gentleman in his opinions, 
winks discreetly at his little peccadilloes, rebukes the children 
when refractory, and is of great use in exhorting the tenants 
to read their Biblies, say their prayers, and, above all, to pay 
their rents punctually and without grumbling. 

14. The family apartments are in a very antiquated taste, 
somewhat heavy, and often inconvenient, but full of the 
solemn magnificence of former times; fitted up with rich 
though faded tapestry, unwieldy furniture, and loads of 



168 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

massy gorgeous old plate. The vast fireplaces, ample 
kitchens, extensive cellars, and sumptuous banqueting halls, 
all speak of the roaring hospitality of days of yore, of which 
the modern festivity at the manor-house is but a shadow. 
There are, however, complete suites of rooms apparently 
deserted and timeworn; and towers and turrets that are 
tottering to decay; so that in high winds there is danger of 
their tumbling about the ears of the household. 

15. John has frequently been advised to have the old 
edifice thoroughly overhauled ; and to have some of the use- 
less parts pulled down, and the others strengthened with their 
materials ; but the old gentleman always grows testy on this 
subject. He swears the house is an excellent house — that 
it is tight and weather-proof, and not to be shaken by tem- 
pests — that it has stood for several hundred years, and, 
therefore, is not likely to tumble down now — that, as to its 
being inconvenient, his family is accustomed to the incon- 
veniences and would not be comfortable without them — 
that, as to its unwieldy size and irregular construction, these 
result from its being the growth of centuries, and being im- 
proved by the wisdom of every generation — that an old 
family, like his, requires a large house to dwell in ; new, up- 
start families may live in modern cottages and snug boxes; 
but an old English family should inhabit an old Enghsh 
manor-house. If you point out any part of the building as 
superfluous, he insists that it is material to the strength or 
decoration of the rest, and the harmony of the whole; and 
swears that the parts are so built into each other, that, if 
you pull down one, you run the risk of having the whole 
about your ears. 

16. The secret of the matter is, that John has a great dis- 
position to protect and patronize. He thinks it indispensable 
to the dignity of an ancient and honorable family to be boun- 
teous in its appointments, and to be eaten up by dependents ; 
and so, partly from pride and partly from kind-heartedness, 
he makes it a rule always to give shelter and maintenance to 
his superannuated servants. 

17. The consequence is, that, like many other venerable 



JOHN BULL 169 

family establishments, his manor is encumbered by old 
retainers whom he cannot turn off, and an old style which he 
cannot lay down. His mansion is like a great hospital of 
invalids, and with all its magnitude, is not a whit too large for 
its inhabitants. Not a nook or corner but is of use in housing 
some useless personage. Groups of veteran beef -eaters, gouty 
pensioners, and retired heroes of the buttery and the larder, 
are seen lolling about its walls, crawling over its lawns, 
dozing under its trees, or sunning themselves upon the benches 
at its doors. Every office and out-house is garrisoned by these 
supernumeraries and their families; for they are amazingly 
prolific, and when they die off, are sure to leave John a 
legacy of hungry mouths to be provided for. A mattock 
cannot be struck against the most mouldering tumble-down 
tower, but out pops, from some cranny or loop-hole, the gray 
pate of some superannuated hanger-on, who has lived at 
John's expense all his Kfe, and makes the most grievous out- 
cry at their pulling down the roof from over the head of a 
worn-out servant of the family. This is an appeal that John's 
honest heart never can withstand ; so that a man, who has 
faithfully eaten his beef and pudding all his life, is sure to be 
rewarded with a pipe and tankard in his old days. 

18. A great part of his park, also, is turned into paddocks, 
where his broken-down chargers are turned loose to graze un- 
disturbed for the remainder of their existence, — a worthy 
example of grateful recollection, which if some of his neighbors 
were to imitate, would not be to their discredit. Indeed, it 
is one of his great pleasures to point out these old steeds to his 
visitors, to dwell on their good qualities, extol their past ser- 
vices, and boast, with some httle vainglory, of the perilous 
adventures and hardy exploits through which they have 
carried him. 

19. He is given, however, to indulge his veneration for 
family usages, and family incumbrances, to a whimsical ex- 
tent. His manor is infested by gangs of gypsies ; yet he will 
not suffer them to be driven off, because they have infested 
the place time out of mind, and been regular poachers upon 
every generation of the family. He will scarcely permit a 



170 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

dry branch to be lopped from the great trees that surround 
the house, lest it should molest the rooks, that have bred there 
for centuries. Owls have taken possession of the dove-cot; 
but they are hereditary owls, and must not be disturbed. 
Swallows have nearly choked up every chimney with their 
nests ; martins build in every frieze and cornice ; crows flutter 
about the towers, and perch on every weathercock; and old 
gray-headed rats may be seen in every quarter of the house, 
running in and out of their holes undauntedly in broad day- 
light. In short, John has such a reverence for everything 
that has been long in the family, that he will not hear even 
of abuses being reformed, because they are good old family 
abuses. 

20, All these whims and habits have concurred wofuUy 
to drain the old gentleman's purse ; and as he prides himself 
on punctuality in money matters and wishes to maintain his 
credit in the neighborhood, they have caused him great per- 
plexity in meeting his engagements. This, too, has been 
increased by the altercations and heart-burnings which are 
continually taking place in his family. His children have 
been brought up to different callings, and are of different ways 
of thinking; and as they have always been allowed to speak 
their minds freely, they do not fail to exercise the privilege 
most clamorously in the present posture of his affairs. Some 
stand up for the honor of the race, and are clear that the old 
establishment should be kept up in all its state, whatever may 
be the cost; others, who are more prudent and considerate, 
entreat the old gentleman to retrench his expenses, and to put 
his whole system of housekeeping on a more moderate footing. 
He has, indeed, at times, seemed inclined to listen to their 
opinions, but their wholesome advice has been completely 
defeated by the obstreperous conduct of one of his sons. 
This is a noisy, rattle-pated fellow, of rather low habits, who 
neglects his business to frequent ale-houses, is the orator of 
village clubs, and a complete oracle among the poorest of his 
father's tenants. No sooner does he hear any of his brothers 
mention reform or retrenchment, than up he jumps, takes the 
words out of their mouths, and roars out for an overturn. 



JOHN BULL 171 

When his tongue is once going, nothing can stop it. He rants 
about the room; hectors the old man about his spendthrift 
practices; ridicules his tastes and pursuits; insists that he 
shall turn the old servants out-of-doors; give the broken- 
down horses to the hounds; send the fat chaplain packing, 
and take a field-preacher in his place, — nay, that the whole 
family mansion shall be levelled with the ground, and a plain 
one of brick and mortar built in its place. He rails at every 
social entertainment and family festivity, and skulks away 
growling to the ale-house whenever an equipage drives up to 
the door. Though constantly complaining of the emptiness 
of his purse, yet he scruples not to spend all his pocket- 
money in these tavern convocations, and even runs up 
scores for the liquor over which he preaches about his 
father's extravagance. 

21. It may readily be imagined how little such thw^arting 
agrees with the old cavalier's fiery temperament. He has 
become so irritable, from repeated crossings, that the mere 
mention of retrenchment or reform is a signal for a brawl 
between him and the tavern oracle. As the latter is too 
sturdy and refractory for paternal discipline, having grown 
out of all fear of the cudgel, they have frequent scenes of 
wordy warfare, which at times run so high, that John is 
fain to call in the aid of his son Tom, an officer who has 
served abroad, but is at present living at home, on half- 
pay. This last is sure to stand by the old gentleman, right 
or wrong ; likes nothing so much as a racketing, roistering 
life; and is ready at a wink or nod, to out sabre, and flour- 
ish it over the orator's head, if he dares to array himself 
against paternal authority. 

22. These family dissensions, as usual, have got abroad, and 
are rare food for scandal in John's neighborhood. People 
begin to look wise, and shake their heads, whenever his affairs 
are mentioned. They all "hope that matters are not so bad 
with him as represented ; but when a man's own children be- 
gin to rail at his extravagance, things must be badly managed. 
They understand he is mortgaged over head and ears, and 
is continually dabbling with money-lenders. He is certainly 



172 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

an open-handed old gentleman, but they fear he has lived 
too fast; indeed, they never knew any good come of this 
fondness for hunting, racing, revelling, and prize-fighting. 
In short, Mr. Bull's estate is a very fine one, and has been in 
the family a long time ; but, for all that, they have known 
many finer estates come to the hammer. '^ 

23. What is worst of all, is the effect which these pecuniary 
embarrassments and domestic feuds have had on the poor 
man himself. Instead of that jolly round corporation, and 
smug rosy face, which he used to present, he has of late be- 
come as shrivelled and shrunk as a frost-bitten apple. His 
scarlet gold-laced waistcoat, which bellied out so bravely in 
those prosperous days when he sailed before the wind, now 
hangs loosely about him like a mainsail in a calm. His' 
leather breeches are all in folds and wrinkles, and apparently 
have much ado to hold up the boots that yawn on both sides 
of his once sturdy legs. 

24. Instead of strutting about as formerly, with his three- 
cornered hat on one side ; flourishing his cudgel, and bringing 
it down every moment with a hearty thump upon the ground ; 
looking every one sturdily in the face, and trolling out a stave 
of a catch or a drinking song; he now goes about whisthng 
thoughtfully to himself, with his head drooping down, his 
cudgel tucked under his arm, and his hands thrust to the bot- 
tom of his breeches pockets, which are evidently empty. 

25. Such is the phght of honest John Bull at present ; yet 
for all this the old fellow's spirit is as tall and as gallant as 
ever. If you drop the least expression of sympathy or con- 
cern, he takes fire in an instant ; swears that he is the richest 
and stoutest fellow in the country ; talks of laying out large 
sums to adorn his house or buy another estate ; and with a 
valiant swagger and grasping of his cudgel, longs exceedingly 
to have another bout at quarter-staff. 

26. Though there may be something rather whimsical in 
all this, yet I confess I cannot look upon John's situation 
without strong feelings of interest. With all his odd humors 
and obstinate prejudices, he is a sterhng-hearted old blade. 
He may not be so wonderfully fine a fellow as he thinks him- 



JOHN BULL 173 

self, but he is at least twice as good as his neighbors represent 
him. His virtues are all his own; all plain, homebred, and 
unaffected. His very faults smack of the raciness of his good 
qualities. His extravagance savors of his generosity; his 
quarrelsomeness of his courage; his credulity of his open 
faith ; his vanity of his pride ; and his bluntness of his sin- 
cerity. They are all the redundancies of a rich and liberal 
character. He is like his own oak, rough without, but sound 
and solid within; whose bark abounds with excrescences in 
proportion to the growth and grandeur of the timber; and 
whose branches make a fearful groaning and murmuring in 
the least storm, from their very magnitude and luxuriance. 
There is something, too, in the appearance of his old family 
mansion that is extremely poetical and picturesque; and, 
as long as it can be rendered comfortably habitable, I should 
almost tremble to see it meddled with, during the present 
conflict of tastes and opinions. Some of his advisers are 
no doubt good architects, that might be of service ; but many, 
I fear, are mere levellers, who, when they had once got to 
work with their mattocks on this venerable edifice, would 
never stop until they had brought it to the ground, and per- 
haps buried themselves among the ruins. All that I wish is, 
that John's present troubles may teach him more prudence 
in future ; — that he may cease to distress his mind about other 
people's affairs ; that he may give up the fruitless attempt to 
promote the good of his neighbors, and the peace and hap- 
piness of the world, by dint of the cudgel ; that he may remain 
quietly at home ; gradually get his house into repair ; culti- 
vate his rich estate according to his fancy; husband his in- 
come — if he thinks proper ; bring his unruly children into 
order — if he can; renew the jovial scenes of ancient pros- 
perity; and long enjoy, on his paternal lands, a green, an 
honorable, and a merry old age. 



STRATFORD-ON-AVON 

[Comment. — One of the earliest excursions undertaken by 
Irving after his return to England included Shakespeare's 
birthplace, and it seems probable that he revisited a spot so 
congenial to his humor more than once before the composition 
of " Stratford-on-Avon," in 1820. Liverpool, Birmingham, and 
London were, perforce, centres of interest between which he 
divided his time, and whichever way he travelled, it was not 
difficult to halt for a night at the familiar Red Horse Inn, 
where he might "snatch a momentary pleasure" in compensa- 
tion for the irksome duties of this period of his life. 

If we may trust a realist so prone to indulge the humors of 
the hour, the visit which our author chose as frame and setting 
of the descriptive narrative of the essay was made in March. 
In the " Life and Letters," we merely read that in March, 1820, 
Irving visited Birmingham, returning to London at the very end 
of the month. Number seven of " The Sketch-Book," includ- 
ing this essay, was despatched to New York June 28, and pub- 
lished in September of that year. 

In 1832, Irving revisited this favorite spot with Mr. Martin 
Van Buren and his son; he writes: "We next passed a night 
and a part of the next day at Stratford-on-Avon, visiting the 
house where Shakespeare was born and the church where he lies 
buried. We were quartered at the little inn of the Red Horse, 
where I found the same obliging little landlady that kept it at 
the time of the visit recorded in 'The Sketch-Book.' You 
cannot imagine what a fuss the little woman made when she 
found out who I was. She showed me the room I had occupied, 
in which she had hung up my engraved likeness, and she pro- 
duced a poker which was locked up in the archives of her 
house, on which she had caused to be engraved, ' Geoffrey 
Crayon's Sceptre.' " — " Life and Letters," Vol. ii, p. 220. 

In telling the story of an excursion for sight-seeing, Irving 
usually follows a definite order : first, the place and the general 
description of it, or the reason for interest in it; secondly, the 
person by whom it is shown; thirdly, special points of interest 
which could only be communicated by the guide ; fourthly, the 
visitor, his opinions, reflections, etc.; and, finally, some sug- 
gestion which may serve as transition to the next division of 
the essay. This general outline varies with the nature of the sub- 
ject; for instance, in " Stratford-on-Avon," the presence of the 

174 



STRATFORD-ON-AVOK 175 

traveller at the Red Horse Inn with a guide-book tells the reader 
at once where the author is and what he came for. The guide- 
book suggests, also, the order of his investigations. The evi- 
dence of method in these essays is all the more striking for 
omissions and modifications. 

Were " Stratf ord-on-Avon " no more than the record of an 
individual tourist, sight-seeing, guide-book in hand, it would 
long since have yielded place to other and later travels of the 
same sort; but some touch of personality in the narrative 
transforms the guide into the friend, some gift of the imagina- 
tion leads us to forget that we are hastily reviewing tangible 
objects with curious gaze — for the hour, we linger fondly with 
Irving, and walk under "the wizard influence of Shakespeare." 
Nor does it disturb us that we pass, in a breath, from real inci- 
dents of the poet's boyhood, to scenes that he himself created 
and placed in familiar surroundings. The young poacher and 
Justice Shallow are alike real. In paragraph 37, Irving con- 
fesses to the mood that ruled the hour in his brain, and ex- 
presses in his own words the point of view from which the 
essay was written. 

Perhaps our traveller found a starting-point for his fancies 
in the rumination of an older traveller of whom he was fond. 
Goldsmith tells how, " by a pleasant fire, in the very room where 
old Sir John Falstaff cracked his jokes, in the very chair which 
was sometimes honored by Prince Henry, he sat and ruminated 
. . . and transported his imagination back to the times when 
the prince and he gave life to the revel." In the very same 
humor, Irving writes of "stretching himself before an inn fire," 
of finding in an old arm-chair his throne; and it is, indeed, the 
same old Sir John who rises from the shades of the past to 
furnish forth his fancies. D.] 

Thou soft-flowing Avon, by thy silver stream 

Of things more than mortal sweet Shakspeare would dream ; 

The fairies by moonlight dance round his green bed, 

For hallow 'd the turf is which pillow 'd his head. 

— Garrick. 

1. To a homeless man, who has no spot on this wide world 
which he can truly call his own, there is a momentary feeling 
of something like independence and territorial consequence, 
when, after a weary day's travel, he kicks off his boots, thrusts 
his feet into slippers, and stretches himself before an inn fire. 
Let the world without go as it may ; let kingdoms rise or fall, 
so long as he has the wherewithal to pay his bill, he is, for 
the time being, the very monarch of all he surveys. The 



176 



THE SKETCH-BOOK 



arm-chair is his throne, the poker his sceptre, and the little 
parlor, some twelve feet square, his undisputed empire. It 
is a morsel of certainty, snatched from the midst of the un- 
certainties of life ; it is a sunny moment gleaming out kindly 
on a cloudy day; and he who has advanced some way on a 
pilgrimage of existence, knows the importance of husbanding 




Irving's Room at the Red Horse Inn 



even morsels and moments of enjoyment. ''Shall I not take 
mine ease in mine inn?" thought I, as I gave the fire a stir, 
lolled back in my elbow-chair, and cast a complacent look 
about the little parlor of the Red Horse, at Stratford-on 
Avon. 

2. The words of sweet Shakspeare were just passing 
through my mind as the clock struck midnight from the tower 
of the church in which he lies buried. There was a gentle 
tap at the door, and a pretty chambermaid, putting in her 
smiling face, inquired, with a hesitating air, whether I had 
rung. I understood it as a modest hint that it was time to 
retire. My dream of absolute dominion was at an end; so 
abdicating my throne, like a prudent potentate, to avoid being 



STKATFOKD-ON-AVON 177 

deposed, and putting the Stratford Guide-Book under my 
arm, as a pillow companion, I went to bed, and dreamt all 
night of Shakspeare, the jubilee, and David Garrick. 

3. The next morning was one of those quickening mornings 
which we sometimes have in early spring ; for it was about the 
middle of March. The chills of a long winter had suddenly 
given way; the north wind had spent its last gasp; and a 
mild air came stealing from the west, breathing the breath 
of life into nature, and wooing every bud and flower to burst 
forth into fragrance and beauty. 

4. I had come to Stratford on a poetical pilgrimage. My 
first visit was to the house where Shakspeare was born, and 
where, according to tradition, he was brought up to his father's 
craft of wool-combing. It is a small, mean-looking edifice 
of wood and plaster, a true nestling-place of genius, which 
seems to delight in hatching its offspring in by-corners. The 
walls of its squalid chambers are covered with names and 
inscriptions in every language, by pilgrims of all nations, 
ranks, and conditions, from the prince to the peasant; 
and present a simple, but striking instance of the sponta- 
neous and universal homage of mankind to the great poet of 
nature. 

5. The house is shown by a garrulous old lady, in a frosty 
red face, lighted up by a cold blue anxious eye, and garnished 
with artificial locks of flaxen hair, curling from under an 
exceedingly dirty cap. She was pecuHarly assiduous in 
exhibiting the relics with which this, like all other celebrated 
shrines, abounds. There was the shattered stock of the very 
matchlock with which Shakspeare shot the deer, on his 
poaching exploits. There, too, was his tobacco-box; which 
proves that he was a rival smoker of Sir Walter Raleigh ; the 
sword also with which he played Hamlet ; and the identical 
lantern with which Friar Laurence discovered Romeo and 
Juliet at the tomb ! There was an ample supply also of 
Shakspeare 's mulberry-tree, which seems to have as extra- 
ordinary powers of self -multiplication as the wood of the true 
cross; of which there is enough extant to build a ship of 
the line. 



178 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

6. The most favorite object of curiosity, however, is 
Shakspeare's chair. It stands in the chimney nook of a small 
gloomy chamber, just behind what was his father's shop. 
Here he may many a time have sat when a boy, watching the 
slowly revolving spit with all the longing of an urchin; 
or of an evening, listening to the cronies and gossips of Strat- 
ford, dealing forth churchyard tales and legendary anecdotes 
of the troublesome times of England. In this chair it is 
the custom of every one that visits the house to sit : whether 
this be done with the hope of imbibing any of the inspiration 
of the bard I am at a loss to say, I merely mention the fact ; 
and mine hostess privately assured me, that, though built 
of solid oak, such was the fervent zeal of devotees, that thie 
chair had to be new bottomed at least once in three years. 
It is worthy of notice also, in the history of this extraordinary 
chair, that it partakes something of the volatile nature of the 
Santa Casa of Loretto, or the flying chair of the Arabian en- 
chanter ; for though sold some few years since to a northern 
princesss, yet, strange to tell, it has found its way back again 
to the old chimney corner. 

7. I am always of easy faith in such matters, and am ever 
willing to be deceived, where the deceit is pleasant and costs 
nothing. I am therefore a ready believer in relics, legends, 
and local anecdotes of goblins and great men; and would 
advise all travellers who travel for their gratification to be the 
same. What is it to us, whether these stories be true or 
false, so long as we can persuade ourselves into the belief of 
them, and enjoy all the charm of the reality? There is 
nothing like resolute good-humored credulity in these matters ; 
and on this occasion I went even so far as willingly to believe 
the claims of mine hostess to a lineal descent from the poet, 
when, luckily for my faith, she put into my hands a play of her 
own composition, which set all belief in her consanguinity at 
defiance. 

8. From the birthplace of Shakspeare a few paces brought 
me to his grave. He lies buried in the chancel of the parish 
church, a large and venerable pile, mouldering with age, but 
richly ornamented. It stands on the banks of the Avon, on an 



STRATFORD-ON-AVON 



1T9 



embowered point, and separated by adjoining gardens from 
the suburbs of the town. Its situation is quiet and retired ; the 
river runs murmuring at the foot of the churchyard, and 
the elms which grow upon its banks droop their branches into 
its clear bosom. An avenue of limes, the boughs of which are 
curiously interlaced, so as to form in summer an arched way 
of foliage, leads up from the gate of the yard to the church 
porch. The graves are overgrown with grass; the gray 
tombstones, some of them nearly sunk into the earth, are half 
covered with moss, which has likewise tinted the reverend old 
building. Small birds have built their nests among the cor- 
nices and fissures of the walls, and keep up a continual flutter 




Parlor in the House in which Shakspearb was born 



and chirping; and rooks are sailing and cawing about its 
lofty gray spire. 

9. In the course of my rambles I met with the gray-headed 
sexton, Edmonds, and accompanied him home to get the key 
of the church. He had lived in Stratford, man and boy, 
for eighty years, and seemed still to consider himself a vigor- 
ous man, with the trivial exception that he had nearly lost 
the use of his legs for a few years past. His dwelling was a 
cottage, looking out upon the Avon and its bordering meadows ; 



180 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

and was a picture of that neatness, order, and comfort, 
which pervade the humblest dwelhngs in this country. A 
low white-washed room, with a stone floor carefully scrubbed, 
served for parlor, kitchen, and hall. Rows of pewter and 
earthen dishes glittered along the dresser. On an old oaken 
table, well rubbed and polished, lay the family Bible and 
prayer-book, and the drawer contained the family library, 
composed of about half a score of well-thummed volumes. 
An ancient clock, that important article of cottage furniture, 
ticked on the opposite side of the room ; with a bright warm- 
ing-pan hanging on one side of it, and the old man's horn- 
handled Sunday cane on the other. The fireplace, as usual, 
was wide and deep enough to admit a gossip knot within its 
jambs. In one corner sat the old man's granddaughter 
sewing, a pretty blue-eyed girl, — and in the opposite corner 
was a superannuated crony, whom he addressed by the name 
of John Ange, and who, I found, had been his companion 
from childhood. They had played together in infancy ; they 
had worked together in manhood ; they were now tottering 
about and gossiping away the evening of life ; and in a short 
time they will probably be buried together in the neighboring 
churchyard. It is not often that we see two streams of 
existence running thus evenly and tranquilly side by side ; it 
is only in such quiet "bosom scenes " of life that they are to be 
met with. 

10. I had hoped to gather some traditionary anecdotes of 
the bard from these ancient chroniclers : but they had nothing 
new to impart. The long interval during which Shakspeare's 
writing lay in comparative neglect has spread its shadow over 
his history; and it is his good or evil lot that scarcely 
anything remains to his biographers but a scanty handful of 
conjectures. 

11. The sexton and his companion had been employed 
as carpenters on the preparations for the celebrated Stratford 
jubilee, and they remembered Garrick, the prime mover of 
the fete, who superintended the arrangements, and who, 
according to the sexton, was " a short punch man, very lively 
and bustling." John Ange had assisted also in cutting down 



STRATFORD-ON-AVON 181 

Shakspeare's mulberry-tree, of which he had a morsel in his 
pocket for sale ; no doubt a sovereign quickener of literary 
conception. 

12. I was grieved to hear these two worthy wights speak 
very dubiously of the eloquent dame .who shows the Shaks- 
peare house. John Ange shook his head when I mentioned 
her valuable collection of relics, particularly her remains of 
the mulberry-tree; and the old sexton even expressed a 
doubt as to Shakspeare having been born in her house. I 
soon discovered that he looked upon her mansion with an evil 
eye, as a rival to the poet's tomb : the latter having com- 
paratively but few visitors. Thus it is that historians differ 
at the very outset, and mere pebbles make the stream of truth 
diverge into different channels even at the fountain-head. 

13. We approached the church through the avenue of 
limes, and entered by a Gothic porch, highly ornamented, 
with carved doors of massive oak. The interior is spacious, 
and the architecture and embellishments superior to those 
of most country churches. There are several ancient monu- 
ments of nobility and gentry, over some of which hang 
funeral escutcheons, and banners dropping piecemeal from 
the walls. The tomb of Shakspeare is in the chancel. The 
place is solemn and sepulchral. Tall elms wave before the 
pointed windows, and the Avon, which runs at a short dis- 
tance from the walls, keeps up a low perpetual murmur. 
A fiat stone marks the spot where the bard is buried. There 
are four lines inscribed on it, said to have been written by 
himself, and which have in them something extremely awful. 
If they are indeed his own, they show that solicitude about 
the quiet of. the grave, which seems natural to fine sensi- 
bilities and thoughtful minds. 

Good friend, for Jesus' sake forbears 
To dig the dust enclosed here. 
Blessed be he that spares these stones, 
And curst be he that moves my bones. 

14. Just over the grave, in a niche of the wall, is a bust 
of Shakspeare, put up shortly after his death, and con- 



182 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

sidered as a resemblance. The aspect is pleasant and serene, 
with a finely arched forehead, and I thought I could read in 
it clear indications of that cheerful, social disposition, by 
which he was as much characterized among his contempo- 
raries as by the vastness of his genius. The inscription 
mentions his age at the time of his decease — fifty-three 
years; an untimely death for the world: for what fruit 
might not have been expected from the golden autumn of 
such a mind, sheltered as it was from the stormy vicissitudes 
of life, and flourishing in the sunshine of popular and royal 
favor. 

15. The inscription on the tombstone has not been without 
its effect. It has prevented the removal of his remains from 
the bosom of his native place to Westminster Abbey, which 
was at one time contemplated. A few years since also, as 
some laborers were digging to make an adjoining vault, the 
earth caved in, so as to leave a vacant space almost like an 
arch, through which one might have reached into his grave. 
No one, however, presumed to meddle with his remains so 
awfully guarded by a malediction ; and lest any of the idle 
or the curious, or any collector of relics, should be tempted 
to commit depredations, the old sexton kept watch over the 
place for two days, until the vault was finished and the aper- 
ture closed again. He told me that he had made bold to look 
in at the hole, but could see neither coffin nor bones ; nothing 
but dust. It was something, I thought, to have seen the dust 
of Shakspeare. 

16. Next to this grave are those of his wife, his favorite 
daughter, Mrs. Hall, and others of his family. On a tomb 
close by, also, is a full-length effigy of his old friend John 
Combe of usurious memory; on whom he is said to have 
written a ludicrous epitaph. There are other monuments 
around, but the mind refuses to dwell on anything that is not 
connected with Shakspeare. His idea pervades the place; 
the whole pile seems but as his mausoleum. The feelings, no 
longer checked and thwarted by doubt, here indulge in perfect 
confidence : other traces of him may be false or dubious, but 
here is palpable evidence and absolute certainty. As I trod 



STRATFOKD-ON-AVON 



183 



the sounding pavement, there was something intense and 
thrilling in the idea, that, in very truth, the remains of Shaks- 
peare were mouldering beneath my feet. It was a long time 
before I could prevail upon myself to leave the place ; and as 
I passed through the churchyard, I plucked a branch from one 
of the yew-trees, the only relic that I have brought from 
Stratford. 

17. I had now visited the usual objects of a pilgrim's 
devotion, but I had a desire to see the old family seat of the 




Shakspeare's Tomb 



Lucys, at Charlecot, and to ramble through the park where 
Shakspeare, in company with some of the roysters of Strat- 
ford, committed his youthful offence of deer-stealing. In 
this hare-brained exploit we are told that he was taken pris- 
oner, and carried to the keeper's lodge, where he remained 
all night in doleful captivity. When brought into the pres- 
ence of Sir Thomas Lucy, his treatment must have been 
galling and humiliating; for it so wrought upon his spirit 



184 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

as to produce a rough pasquinade, which was affixed to the 
park gate at Charlecot.^ 

18. This flagitious attack upon the dignity of the knight 
so incensed him, that he apphed to a lawyer at Warwick to 
put the severity of the laws in force against the rhyming deer- 
stalker. Shakspeare did not wait to brave the united puis- 
sance of a knight of the shire and a country attorney. He 
forthwith abandoned the pleasant banks of the Avon and his 
paternal trade ; wandered away to London ; became a 
hanger-on to the theatres ; then an actor ; and, finally, wrote 
for the stage ; and thus, through the persecution of Sir 
Thomas Lucy, Stratford lost an indifferent wool-comber, 
and the world gained an immortal poet. He retained, how- 
ever, for a long time, a sense of the harsh treatment of the 
Lord of Charlecot, and revenged himself in his writings ; but 
in the sportive way of a good-natured mind. Sir Thomas 
is said to be the original Justice Shallow, and the satire is 
slyly fixed upon him by the justice's armorial bearings, 
which, like those of the laiight, had white luces ^ in the quar- 
terings. 

19. Various attempts have been made by his biographers 
to soften and explain away this early transgression of the 
poet ; but I look upon it as one of those thoughtless exploits 
natural to his situation and turn of mind. Shakspeare, 
when young, had doubtless all the wildness and irregularity 
of an ardent, undisciplined, and undirected genius. The 
poetic temperament has naturally something in it of the 
vagabond. When left to itself it runs loosely and wildly, and 

^ The following is the only stanza extant of this lampoon : — 

A parliament member, a justice of peace, 
At home a poor scarecrow, at London an asse, 
If lowsie is Lucy, as some volke miscalle it 
Then Lucy is lowsie, whatever befall it. 

He thinks himself great ; 

Yet an asse in his state, 
We allow by his ears but with asses to mate, 
If Lucy is lowsie, as some volke miscalle it, 
Then sing lowsie Lucy whatever befall it. 

^ The luce is a pike or jack, and abounds in the Avon about Charle- 
cot. 



STRATFORD-OK-AVON 185 

delights in everything eccentric and licentious. It is often 
a turn-up of a die, in the gambling freaks of fate, whether a 
natural genius shall turn out a great rogue or a great poet ; 
and had not Shakspeare's mind fortunately taken a literary 
bias, he might have as daringly transcended all civil, as he has 
all dramatic laws. 

20. I have little doubt that, in early life, when running, like 
an unbroken colt, about the neighborhood of Stratford, he 
was to be found in the company of all kinds of odd anomalous 
characters, that he associated with all the madcaps of the 
place, and was one of those unlucky urchins, at mention of 
whom old men shake their heads, and predict that they will 
one day come to the gallows. To him the poaching in Sir 
Thomas Lucy's park was doubtless like a foray to a Scottish 
knight, and struck his eager, and, as yet untamed, imagina- 
tion, as something delightfully adventurous.^ 

^ A proof of Shakspeare's random habits and associates in his 
youthful days may be found in a traditionary anecdote, picked up at 
Stratford by the elder Ireland, and mentioned in his "Picturesque 
Views on the Avon." 

About seven miles from Stratford lies the thirsty little market- 
town of Bedford, famous for its ale. Two societies of the village 
yeomanry used to meet, under the appellation of the Bedford topers, 
and to challenge the lovers of good ale of the neighboring villages to 
a contest of drinking. Among others, the people of Stratford were 
called out to prove the strength of their heads ; and in the number of 
the champions was Shakspeare, who, in spite of the proverb that 
"they who drink beer will think beer," was as true to his ale as Fal- 
Btaff to his sack. The chivalry of Stratford was staggered at the 
first onset, and sounded a retreat while they had yet legs to carry 
them off the field. They had scarcely marched a mile when, their 
legs failing them, they were forced to lie down under a crab-tree, 
where they passed the night. It is still standing, and goes by the 
name of Shakspeare's tree. 

In the morning his companions awaked the bard, and proposed 
returning to Bedford, but he declined, saying he had had enough, 
having drank with 

Piping Pebworth, Dancing Marston, 
Haunted Hilbro', Hungry Grafton, 
Dudging Exhall, Papist Wicksford, 
Beggarly Broom, and Drunken Bedford. 

"The villages here alluded to, " says Ireland, "still bear the epithets 
thus given them : the people of Pebworth are still famed for their 
skill on the pipe and tabor ; Hilborough is now called Haunted Hil- 
borough ; and Grafton is famous for the poverty of its soil. " 



186 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

21. The old mansion of Charlecot and its surrounding park 
still remain in the possession of the Lucy family, and are 
peculiarly interesting, from being connected with this whim- 
sical but eventful circumstance in the scanty history of the 
bard. As the house stood but little more than three miles 
distance from Stratford, I resolved to pay it a pedestrian 
visit, that I might stroll leisurely through some of those scenes 
from which Shakspeare must have derived his earliest ideas 
of rural imagery. 

22. The country was yet naked and leafless ; but English 
scenery is always verdant, and the sudden change in the tem- 
perature of the weather was surprising in its quickening effects 
upon the landscape. It was inspiring and animating to wit- 
ness this first awakening of spring; to feel its warm breath 
stealing over the senses ; to see the moist mellow earth begin- 
ning to put forth the green sprout and the tender blade ; and 
the trees and shrubs, in their reviving tints and bursting buds, 
giving the promise of returning foliage and flower. The cold 
snowdrop, that little borderer on the skirts of winter, was to 
be seen with its chaste white blossoms in the small gardens 
before the cottages. The bleating of the new-dropt lambs 
was faintly heard from the fields. The sparrow twittered 
about the thatched eaves and budding hedges; the robin 
threw a livelier note into his late querulous wintry strain ; 
and the lark, springing up from the reeking bosom of the 
meadow, towered away into the bright fleecy cloud, pouring 
forth torrents of melody. As I watched the little songster, 
mounting up higher and higher, until his body was a mere 
speck on the white bosom of the cloud, while the ear was 
still filled with his music, it called to mind Shakspeare 's 
exquisite little song in Cymbeline : — 

Hark ! hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings, 

And Phoebus 'gins arise, 
His steeds to water at those springs, 

On chaliced flowers that lies. 

And winking mary-buds begin 

To ope their golden- eyes ; 
With everything that pretty bin, 

My lady sweet arise 1 



STRATFOllD-ON-AVON 187 

23. Indeed the whole country about here is poetic ground : 
everything is associated with the idea of Shakspeare. Every 
old cottage that I saw, I fancied into some resort of his boy- 
hood, where he had acquired his intimate knowledge of rustic 
life and manners, and heard those legendary tales and wild 
superstitions which he has woven like witchcraft into his 
dramas. For in his time we are told, it was popular amuse- 
ment in winter evenings "to sit round the fire, and tell merry 
tales of errant knights, queens, lovers, lords, ladies, giants, 
dwarfs, thieves, cheaters, witches, fairies, goblins, and friars.^' ^ 

24. My route for a part of the way lay in sight of the Avon, 
which made a variety of the most fancy doublings and wind- 
ings through a wide and fertile valley; sometimes glittering 
from among willows which fringed its borders; sometimes 
disappearing among groves, or beneath green banks; and 
sometimes rambling out into full view, and making an azure 
sweep round a slope of meadow land. This beautiful bosom 
of country is called the Vale of the Red Horse. A distant 
line of undulating blue hills seems to be its boundary, whilst 
all the soft intervening landscape lies in a manner enchained 
in the silver links of the Avon. 

25. After pursuing the road for about three miles I turned 
off into a footpath, which led along the borders of fields, and 
under hedgerows to a private gate of the park; there was a 
stile, however, for the benefit of the pedestrian ; there being a 
public right of way through the grounds. I delight in these 
hospitable estates, in which every one has a kind of property 
— at least as far as the footpath is concerned. It in some 
measure reconciles a poor man to his lot, and, what is more, 
to the better lot of his neighbor, thus to have parks and pleas- 
ure-grounds thrown open for his recreation. He breathes 

^ Scot, in his " Disco verie of Witchcraft," enumerates a host of 
these fireside fancies. "And they have so fraid us witli bull-beggars, 
spirits, witches, urchins, elves, hags, fairies, satyrs, pans, faunes, 
syrens, kit with the can sticke, tritons, centaurs, dwarfes, giantes, 
imps, calcars, conjurors, nymphes, changelings, incubus, Robin-good- 
fellow, the spoorne, the mare, the man in the oka, the hell-waine, 
the fier drake, the puckle, Tom Thombe, hobgoblins, Tom Tumbler, 
boneless, and such other bugs, that we were afraid of our own 
shadows." 



188 



THE SKETCH-BOOK 



the pure air as freely, and lolls as luxuriously under the shade, 
as the lord of the soil ; and if he has not the privilege of calling 
all that he sees his own, he has not, at the same time, the 
trouble of paying for it, and keeping it in order. 

26. I now found myself among noble avenues of oaks and 
elms, whose vast size besp6ke the growth of centuries. The 
wind sounded solemnly among their branches, and the rooks 
cawed from their hereditary nests in the tree-tops. The 
eye ranged through a long lessening vista, with nothing to 
interrupt the view but a distant statue ; and a vagrant deer 
stalking like a shadow across the opening. 




f^=jtW''>,;y;,*vyiMiiiiy\.i>^^^^^^^ ••■■"'■v.- 



Charlecot Hall 



27. There is something about these stately old avenues 
that has the effect of Gothic architecture, not merely from 
the pretended similiarity of form, but from their bearing the 
evidence of long duration, and of having had their origin in 
a period of time with which we associate ideas of romantic 
grandeur. They betoken also the long-settled dignity, and 
proudly concentrated independence of an ancient family; 
and I have heard a worthy but aristocratic old friend observe, 
when speaking of the sumptuous palaces of modern gentry, 
that "money could do much with stone and mortar, but, 
thank Heaven, there was no such thing as suddenly building 
up an avenue of oaks. 

28. It was from wandering in early life among this rich 



STRATFORD-OK-AVON 189 

scenery, and about the romantic solitudes of the adjoining 
park of Fullbroke, which then formed a part of the Lucy 
estate, that some of Shakspeare^s commentators have sup- 
posed he derived his noble forest meditations of Jaques, and 
the enchanting woodland pictures in '^As You Like It." 
It is in lonely wanderings through such scenes, that the mind 
drinks deep but quiet draughts of inspiration, and becomes 
intensely sensible of the beauty and majesty of nature. The 
imagination kindles into revery and rapture; vague but 
exquisite images and ideas keep breaking upon it; and we 
revel in a mute and almost incommunicable luxury of thought. 
It was in some such mood, and perhaps under one of those 
very trees before me, which threw their broad shades over 
the grassy banks and quivering waters of the Avon, that the 
poet's fancy may have sallied forth into that little song which 
breathes the very soul of a rural voluptuary. 

Under the greenwood tree 
Who loves to lie with me, 
And tune his merry note 
Unto the sweet bird's throat, 
Come hither, come hither, come hither ; 

Here shall he see 

No enemy, 
But winter and rough weather. 

29. I had now come in sight of the house. It is a large 
building of brick, with stone quoins, and is in the Gothic style 
of Queen Elizabeth's day, having been built in the first year 
of her reign. The exterior remains very nearly in its original 
state, and may be considered a fair specimen of the residence 
of a wealthy country gentleman of those days. A great gate- 
way opens from the park into a kind of courtyard in front 
of the house, ornamented with a grass-plot, shrubs, and 
flower-beds. The gateway is in imitation of the ancient bar- 
bacan; being a kind of outpost, and flanked by towers; 
though evidently for mere ornament, instead of defence. 
The front of the house is completely in the old style; with 
stone-shafted casements, a great bow-window of heavy stone- 
work, and a portal with armorial bearings over it, carved in 



190 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

stone. At each corner of the building is an octagon tower, 
surmounted by a gilt ball and weathercock. 

30. The Avon, which winds through the park, makes a bend 
just at the foot of a gently sloping bank, which sweeps down 
from the rear of the house. Large herds of deer were feeding 
or reposing upon its borders; and swans were sailing ma- 
jestically upon its bosom. As I contemplated the venerable 
old mansion, I called to mind Falstaff's encomium on Justice 
Shallow's abode, and the affected indifference and real vanity 
of the latter. 

" Falstaff. You have a goodly dwelling and a rich. 
" Shalloiv. Barren, barren, barren ; beggars all, beggars all, Sir 
John : — marry, good air." 

31. Whatever may have been the joviality of the old man- 
sion in the days of Shakspeare, it had now an air of stillness 
and solitude. The great iron gateway that opened into the 
courtyard was locked ; there w^as no show of servants bustling 
about the place ; the deer gazed quietly at me as I passed, 
being no longer harried by the moss-troopers of Stratford. 
The only sign of domestic life that I met with was a white cat, 
stealing with wary look and stealthy pace towards the stables, 
as if on some nefarious expedition. I must not omit to 
mention the carcass of a scoundrel crow which I saw suspended 
against the barn wall, as it shows that the Lucys still inherit 
that lordly abhorrence of poachers, and maintain that rigorous 
exercise of territorial power which was so strenuously mani- 
fested in the case of the bard. 

32. After prowling about for some time, I at length found 
my way to a lateral portal, which was the every-day entrance 
to the mansion. I was courteously received by a worthy 
old house-keeper, who, with the civility and communicative- 
ness of her order, showed me the interior of the house. The 
greater part has undergone alterations, and been adapted 
to modern tastes and modes of living : there is a fine old oaken 
staircase ; and the great hall, that noble feature in an ancient 
manor-house, still retains much of the appearance it must 
have had in the days of Shakspeare. The ceiling is arched 



STKATFOED-ON-AVON 191 

and lofty; and at one end is a gallery in which stands an 
organ. The weapons and trophies of the chase, which for- 
merly adorned the hall of a country gentleman, have made 
way for family portraits. There is a wide hospitable fire- 
place, calculated for an ample old-fashioned wood fire, 
formerly the rallying-place of winter festivity. On the oppo- 
site side of the hall is the huge Gothic bow-window, with stone 
shafts, which looks out upon the courtyard. Here are em- 
blazoned in stained glass the armorial bearings of the Lucy 
family for many generations, some being dated in 1558. I was 
delighted to observe in the quarterings the three white luces, 
by which the character of Sir Thomas was first identified 
with that of Justice Shallow. They are mentioned in the 
first scene of the "Merry Wives of Windsor," where the 
Justice is in a rage with Falstaff for having "beaten his men, 
killed his deer, and broken into his lodge. '^ The poet had 
no doubt the offences of himself and his comrades in mind at 
the time, and we may suppose the family pride and vindictive 
threats of the puissant Shallow to be a caricature of the pom- 
pous indignation of Sir Thomas. 

"Shallow. Sir Hugh, persuade me not; I will make a Star- 
Cham.ber matter of it ; if he were twenty John Falstaffs, he shall not 
abuse Sir Robert Shallow, Esq. 

" Slender. In the county of Gloster, justice of peace, and coram. 

" Shallow. Ay, cousin Slender, and custalorum. 

" Slender. Ay, and ratolorum too, and a gentleman born, master 
parson ; who writes himself Armigero in any bill, warrant, quittance, 
or obligation, Armigero. 

" Shallow. Ay, that I do ; and have done any time these three hun- 
dred years. 

"Slender. All his successors gone before him have done 't, and all his 
ancestors that come after him may ; they may give the dozen white 
luces in their coat. . . . 

"Shallow. The council shall hear it; it is a riot. 

"Evans. It is not meet the council hear of a riot; there is no fear 
of Got in a riot : the council, hear you, shall desire to hear the fear of 
Got, and not to hear a riot ; take your vizaments in that. 

"Shallow. Ha ! o' my life, if I were young again, the sword should 
end it ! " 

33. Near the window thus emblazoned hung a portrait by 
Sir Peter Lely, of one of the Lucy family, a great beauty of the 
time of Charles the Second: the old housekeeper shook her 



192 



THE SKETCH-BOOK 



head as she pointed to the picture, and informed me that 
this lady had been sadly addicted to cards, and had gambled 
away a great portion of the family estate, among which was 
that part of the park where Shakspeare and his comrades had 
killed the deer. The lands thus lost had not been entirely 
regained by the family even at the present day. It is but 
justice to this recreant dame to confess that she had a sur- 
passingly fine hand and arm. 




The Great Hall at Charlecot 



34. The picture which most attracted my attention was a 
great painting over the fireplace, containing likenesses of 
Sir Thomas Lucy and his family, who inhabited the hall in 
the latter part of Shakspeare's lifetime. I at first thought 
that it was the vindictive knight himself, but the house- 
keeper assured me that it was his son; the only likeness 
extant of the former being an effigy upon his tomb in the 
church of the neighboring hamlet of Charlecot. The picture^ 

^ This effigy is in white marble, and represents the Knight in com- 
plete armor. Near him lies the effigy of his wife, and on her tomb 
is the following inscription ; which, if really composed by her hus- 



STEATFORD-ON-AYON ^ 193 

gives a lively idea of the costume and manners of the time. 
Sir Thomas is dressed in ruff and doublet; white shoes 
with roses in them ; and has a beaked yellow, or, as Master 
Slender would say, "a cane-colored beard/' His lady is 
seated on the opposite side of the picture, in wide ruff and 
long stomacher, and the children have a most venerable 
stiffness and formality of dress. Hounds and spaniels are 
mingled in the family group ; a hawk is seated on his 
perch in the foreground, and one of the children holds a 
bow ; — all intimating the knight's skill in hunting, hawking, 
and archery — so indispensable to an accomplished gentle- 
man in those days.^ 

35. I regretted to find that the ancient furniture of the hall 
had disappeared; for I had hoped to meet with the stately 
elbow-chair of carved oak, in which the country squire of 

band, places him quite above the intellectual level of Master 
Shallow. 

Here lyeth the Lady Joyce Lucy wife of Sir Thomas Lucy of 
Charlecot in ye county of Warwick, Knight, Daughter and heir of 
Thomas Acton of Sutton in ye county of W orcester Esquire who de- 
parted out of this wretched world to her heavenly kingdom ye 10 day 
of February in ye yeare of our Lord God 1595 and of her age 60 and 
three. All the time of her lyfe a true and faythful servant of her good 
God, never detected of any cryme or vice. In religion most sounde, 
in love to her husband most faythful and true. In friendship most 
constant ; to what in trust was committed unto her most secret. In 
wisdom excelling. In governing of her house, bringing up of youth 
in ye fear of God that did converse with her naoste rare and singular. 
A great maintayner of hospitality. Greatly esteemed of her betters ; 
misliked of none unless of the envyous. When all is spoken that can 
be saide a woman so garnished with virtue as not to be bettered 
and hardly to be equalled by any. As shee lived most virtuously so 
shee died most Godly. Set downe by him yt best did knowe what 
hath byn written to be true. Thomas Lucye. 

2 Bishop Earle, speaking of the country gentleman of his time, 
observes, "his housekeeping is seen much in the different families of 
dogs, and serving-men attendant on their kennels ; and the deepness 
of their throats is the depth of his discourse. A hawk he esteems the 
true burden of nobility, and is exceedingly ambitious to seem de- 
lighted with the sport, and have his fist gloved with his jesses." 
And Gilpin, in his description of a Mr. Hastings, remarks, "he kept all 
sorts of hounds that run, buck, fox, hare, otter, and badger, and had 
hawks of all kinds both long and short winged. His great hall was 
commonly strewed with marrow-bones, and full of hawk, perches, 
hounds, spaniels, and terriers. On a broad hearth, paved with brick, 
lay some of the choicest terriers, hounds, and spaniels." 



194 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

former days was wont to sway the sceptre of empire over his 
rural domains; and in which it might be presumed the re- 
doubted Sir Thomas sat enthroned in awful state when the 
recreant Shakspeare was brought before him. As I like to 
deck out pictures for my own entertainment, I pleased my- 
self with the idea that this very hall had been the scene of the 
unlucky bard's examination on the morning after his cap- 
tivity in the lodge. I fancied to myself the rural potentate, 
surrounded by his body-guard of butler, pages, and blue- 
coated serving-men, with their badges; while the luckless 
culprit was brought in, forlorn and chopfallen, in the custody 
of gamekeepers, huntsmen, and whippers-in, and followed by 
a rabble rout of country clowns. I fancied bright faces of 
curious housemaids peeping from the half-opened doors; 
while from the gallery the fair daughters of the knight leaned 
gracefully forward, eying the youthful prisoner with that 
pity "that dwells in womanhood." — Who would have 
thought that this poor varlet, thus trembling before the brief 
authority of a country squire, and the sport of rustic boors, 
was soon to become the delight of princes, the theme of all 
tongues and ages, the dictator to the human mind, and was 
to confer immortality on his oppressor by a caricature and 
a lampoon ! 

36. I was now invited by the butler to walk into the garden, 
and I felt inclined to visit the orchard and arbor where the 
justice treated Sir John Falstaff and Cousin Silence 'Ho a last 
year's pippin of his own grafting, with a dish of caraways;'' 
but I had already spent so much of the day in my ramblings 
that I was obliged to give up any further investigations. 
When about to take my leave, I was gratified by the civil 
entreaties of the housekeeper and butler, that I would take 
some refreshment: an instance of good old hospitality, 
which, I grieve to say, we castle-hunters seldom meet with 
in modern days. I make no doubt it is a virtue which the 
present representative of the Lucys inherits from his ancestors ; 
for Shakspeare, even in his caricature, makes Justice Shallow 
importunate in this respect, as witness his pressing instances 
to Falstaff. 



STRATFOBD-ON-AVON 195 

"By cock and pye, sir, you shall not away to-night ... I will 
not excuse you ; you shall not be excused ; excuses shall not be ad- 
mitted ; there is no excuse shall serve ; you shall not be excused . . . 
Some pigeons, Davy ; a couple of short-legged hens ; a joint of 
mutton ; and any pretty little tiny kickshaws, tell William Cook. " 

37. I now bade a reluctant farewell to the old hall. My 
mind had become so completely possessed by the imaginary 
scenes and characters connected with it, that I seemed to be 
actually living among them. Everything brought them as 
it were before my eyes ; and as the door of the dining-room 
opened, I almost expected to hear the feeble voice of Master 
Silence quavering forth his favorite ditty : — 

" 'Tis merry in hall, when beards wag all, 
And welcome merry shrove-tide I" 

38. On returning to my inn, I could not but reflect on the 
singular gift of the poet ; to be able thus to spread the magic 
of his mind over the very face of nature ; to give to things 
and places a charm and character not their own, and to turn 
this "working-day world" into a perfect fairy land. He 
is indeed the true enchanter, whose spell operates, not upon the 
senses, but upon the imagination and the heart. Under the 
wizard influence of Shakspeare I had been walking all day in 
a complete delusion. I had surveyed the landscape through 
the prism of poetry, which tinged every object with the hues 
of the rainbow. I had been surrounded with fancied beings ; 
with mere airy nothings, conjured up by poetic power; yet 
which, to me, had all the charm of reality. I had heard 
Jaques soliloquize beneath his oak: had beheld the fair 
Rosalind and her companion adventuring through the wood- 
lands; and, above all, had been once more present in spirit 
with fat Jack Falstaff and his contemporaries, from the august 
Justice Shallow, down to the gentle Master Slender and the 
sweet Anne Page. Ten thousand honors and blessings on 
the bard who has thus gilded the dull realities of life with 
innocent illusions; who has spread exquisite and unbought 
pleasures in my checkered path; and beguiled my spirit in 
many a lonely hour, with all the cordial and cheerful sym- 
pathies of social life ! 



196 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

39. As I crossed the bridge over the Avon on my return, I 
paused to contemplate the distant church in which the poet 
hes buried, and could not but exult in the malediction, which 
has kept his ashes undisturbed in its quiet and hallowed vaults. 
What honor could his name have derived from being mingled 
in dusty companionship with the epitaphs and escutcheons 
and venal eulogiums of a titled multitude ? What would a 
crowded corner in Westminster Abbey have been, compared 
with this reverend pile, which seems to stand in beautiful 
loneliness as his sole mausoleum ! The solicitude about the 
grave may be but the off-spring of an over-wrought sensibility ; 
but human nature is made up of foibles and prejudices; and 
its best and tenderest affections are mingled with these facti- 
tious feelings. He who has sought renown about the world, 
and has reaped a full harvest of worldly favor, will find, after 
all, that there is no love, no admiration, no applause, so sweet 
to the soul as that which springs up in his native place. It is 
there that he seeks to be gathered in peace and honor among 
his kindred and his early friends. And when the weary heart 
and failing head begin to warn him that the evening of life is 
drawing on, he turns as fondly as does the infant to the 
mother's arms, to sink to sleep in the bosom of the scene of 
his childhood. 

40. How would it have cheered the spirit of the youthful 
bard when, wandering forth in disgrace upon a doubtful 
world, he cast back a heavy look upon his paternal home, 
could he have foreseen that, before many years, he should 
return to it covered with renown; that his name should be- 
come the boast and glory of his native place : that his ashes 
should be religiously guarded as its most precious treasure ; 
and that its lessening spire, on which his eyes were fixed in 
tearful contemplation, should one day become the beacon, 
towering amidst the gentle landscape, to guide the literary 
pilgrim of every nation to his tomb ! 



ABBOTSFORD 

[Comment. — The visit which furnished the material for this 
essay took place in 1817, in the same year with the excursion 
into Derbyshire and the residence in Little Britain. It appears, 
naturally, therefore, in a volume of essays selected from "The 
Sketch-Book," although it was written and published many 
years later than the essays of that volume. Irving speaks of his 
excursions to Eastcheap and to Stratford as pilgrimages; his 
journey to Abbotsford arose from the same love of visiting, 
in the body, the places long ago wandered through in imagina- 
tion, but it was much more than a pilgrimage. He hoped here, 
also, to identify places long familiar in story and to see with his 
own eyes the homes and haunts of a great poet, but more than 
all, his thought dwelt upon the possibility that he might see 
the features and hear the Scotch accent of the man whom he 
admired as the foremost author of his time. This anticipation 
was sufficient to set beating the heart of a modest young writer 
not yet secure of fame. When at length the dream became 
reality and he found himself welcomed as table companion 
and comrade of Sir Walter, it seemed, in the words of children, 
too good to be true, and he lay awake on his pillow trying 
to realize his fortune. 

In letters to Irving's brother Peter will be found an account 
of this visit at the time of its occurrence. — " Life and Letters," 
Vol. I, pp. 281-288 (Chap. xxi.). 

In essays such as " Stratford-on-Avon," it was Irving's purpose 
to create for readers a lively picture in which scenes and persons 
known through books, mingle in close association with real 
places. In "Abbotsford," the purpose was different. Irving 
sought to share an experience with us that we, too, may be 
acquainted with Scott at home, in the midst of work or play, 
surrounded by his family, displaying freely his humors and 
characteristics. In the study of the following essay this point 
of view must be borne in mind. Whatever the visit or the 
ramble, the description of it serves for the illustration of 
Scott's life or character. 

In "Abbotsford" readers have the rare opportunity of admis- 
sion as eavesdroppers while two men of letters indulge humors and 
fancies called forth by sympathetic intellectual companionship. 
The picture of Scott at home with favorite hounds, or abroad 
on his estate, among dependants who worshipped him, lingers 

197 



198 



THE SKETCH-BOOK 



in the memory longer than any of his own making. His 
pride in the countryside, or his interest in the building of 
Abbotsford, or in the education of his son, reveals the Scots- 
man more truly than all his volumes. 

The reminiscent form of the narrative, which is frankly per- 
sonal and historical, gives an orderly arrangement of material 
in the essay, and the author infuses, with the remembered en- 
thusiasm of youth, the deeper and more appreciative feeling 
of mature years, in which he himself had won full recognition 
and fame. D.] 




The Gate at Abbotsford 



1. I sit down to perform my promise of giving you an 
account of a visit made many years since to Abbotsford. I 
hope, however, that you do not expect much from me, for 
the travelling notes taken at the time are so scanty and 
vague, and my memory so extremely fallacious, that I fear 
I shall disappoint you with the meagreness and crudeness of 
my details. 

2. Late in the evening of the 29th of August, 1817, I 
arrived at the ancient little border-town of Selkirk, where 
I put up for the night. I had come down from Edinburgh, 
partly to visit Melrose Abbey and its vicinity, but chiefly to 
get a sight of the " mighty minstrel of the north." I had a 
letter of introduction to him from Thomas Campbell the 
poet, and had reason to think, from the interest he had 
taken in some of my earlier scribblings, that a visit from me 
would not be deemed an intrusion. 

3. On the following morning, after an early breakfast, I 



ABBOTSFORD 199 

set off in a post-chaise for the Abbey. On the way thither 
I stopped at the gate of Abbotsford, and sent the postilion 
to the house with the letter of introduction and my card, on 
which I had written that I was on my way to the ruins of 
Melrose Abbey, and wished to know whether it would be 
agreeable to Mr. Scott (he had not yet been made a Baronet) 
to receive a visit from me in the course of the morning. 

4. While the postilion was on his errand, I had time to 
survey the mansion. It stood some short distance below the 
road, on the side of a hill sweeping down to the Tweed ; and 
was as yet but a snug gentleman's cottage, with something 
rural and picturesque in its appearance. The whole front 
was overrun with evergreens, and immediately above the 
portal was a great pair of elk-horns, branchi^ig out from be- 
neath the foliage, and giving the cottage the look of a hunt- 
ing-lodge. The huge baronial pile, to which this modest 
mansion in a manner gave birth, was just emerging into 
existence: part of the walls, surrounded by scaffolding, 
already had risen to the height of the cottage, and the court- 
yard in front was encumbered by masses of hewn stone. 

5. The noise of the chaise had disturbed the quiet of the 
establishment. Out sallied the warder of the castle, a 
black greyhound, and, leaping on one of the blocks of stone, 
began a furious barking. His alarum brought out the whole 
garrison of dogs, — 

"Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, 
And curs of low degree ; " 

all open-mouthed and vociferous. 1 should correct my 

quotation; — not a cur was to be seen on the premises: 
Scott was too true a sportsman, and had too high a veneration 
for pure blood, to tolerate a mongrel. 

6. In a little while the "lord of the castle'' himself made 
his appearance. I knew him at once by the descriptions I 
had read and heard, and the likenesses that had been pub- 
lished of him. He was tall, and of a large and powerful 
frame. His dress was simple, and almost rustic : an old green 
shooting-coat, with a dog-whistle at the button-hole, brown 



200 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

linen pantaloons, stout shoes that tied at the ankles, and a 
white hat that had evidently seen service. He came limp- 
ing up the gravel-walk, aiding himself by a stout walk- 
ing-staff, but moving rapidly and with vigor. By his side 
jogged along a large iron-gray stag-hound of most grave 
demeanor, who took no part in the clamor of the canine 
rabble, but seemed to consider himself bound, for the dignity 
of the house, to give me a courteous reception. 

7. Before Scott had reached the gate he called out in a 
hearty tone, welcoming me to Abbotsford, and asking news 
of Campbell. Arrived at the door of the chaise, he grasped me 
warmly by the hand : ''Come, drive down, drive down to the 
house," said he, "ye 're just in time for breakfast, and after- 
wards ye shall see all the wonders of the Abbey.'' 

8. I would have excused myself, on the plea of having 
already made my breakfast. *'Hoot, man," cried he, "a. 
ride in the morning in the keen air of the Scotch hills is 
warrant enough for a second breakfast." 

9. I was accordingly whirled to the portal of the cottage, 
and in a few moments found myself seated at the breakfast- 
table. There was no one present but the family : which con- 
sisted of Mrs. Scott ; her eldest daughter Sophia, then a fine 
girl about seventeen ; Miss Ann Scott, two or three years 
younger; Walter, a well-grown stripling; and Charles, a 
lively boy, eleven or twelve years of age. I soon felt myself 
quite at home, and my heart in a glow with the cordial wel- 
come I experienced. I had thought to make a mere morning 
visit, but found I was not to be left off so lightly. "You 
must not think our neighborhood is to be read in a morning, 
like a newspaper," said Scott. " It takes several days of study 
for an observant traveller that has a relish for auld-world 
trumpery. After breakfast you shall make your visit to 
Melrose Abbey; I shall not be able to accompany you, as I 
have some household affairs to attend to, but I will put you 
in charge of my son Charles, who is very learned in all things 
touching the old ruin and the neighborhood it stands in, and 
he and my friend Johnny Bower will tell you the whole truth 
about it, with a good deal more that you are not called upon 



ABBOTSFORD 



201 



to believe — unless you be a true and nothing-doubting 
antiquary. When you come back, I'll take you out on a 
ramble about the neighborhood. To-morrow we will take 
a look at the Yarrow, and the next day we will drive over 
to Dryburgh Abbey, which is a fine old ruin well worth your 
seeing;" — in a word, before Scott had got through with his 
plan, I found myself committed for a visit of several days, 
and it seemed as if a little realm of romance was suddenly 
opened before me. 




Abbotsfobd in 1812 
After an engraving by W. Richardson 



10. After breakfast I accordingly set off for the Abbey with 
my little friend Charles, whom I found a most sprightly and en- 
tertaining companion. He had an ample stock of anecdote 
about the neighborhood, which he had learned from his 
father, and many quaint remarks and sly jokes, evidently 
derived from the same source, all which were uttered with a 
Scottish accent and a mixture of Scottish phraseology, that 
gave them additional flavor. 

11. On our way to the Abbey he gave me some anecdotes 
of Johnny Bower, to whom his father had alluded; he was 
sexton of the parish and custodian of the ruin, employed to 
keep it in order and show it to strangers ; — a worthy little 



202 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

man, not without ambition in his humble sphere. The death 
of his predecessor had been mentioned in the newspapers, 
so that his name had appeared in print throughout the land. 
When Johnny succeeded to the guardianship of the ruin, he 
stipulated that, on his death, his name should receive like 
honorable blazon ; with this addition, that it should be from 
the pen of Scott. The latter gravely pledged himself to pay 
this tribute to his memory, and Johnny now lived in the proud 
anticipation of a poetic immortality. 

12. I found Johnny Bower a decent-looking little old man, 
in blue coat and red waistcoat. He received us with much 
greeting, and seemed delighted to see my young companion, 
who was full of merriment and waggery, drawing out his 
peculiarities for my amusement. The old man was one of the 
most authentic and particular of cicerones; he pointed out 
everything in the Abbey that had been described by Scott 
in his "Lay of the Last Minstrer'; and would repeat, with 
broad Scottish accent, the passage which celebrated it. 

13. Thus, in passing through the cloisters, he made me 
remark the beautiful carvings of leaves and flowers wrought 
in stone with the most exquisite delicacy, and, notwithstand- 
ing the lapse of centuries, retaining their sharpness as if fresh 
from the chisel ; rivalling, as Scott has said, the real objects 
of which they were imitations, — 

"Nor herb nor flowret glistened there 
But was carved in the cloister arches as fair." 

14. He pointed out also among the carved work a nun's 
head of much beauty, which he said Scott always stopped 
to admire, — "for the shirra had a wonderful eye for all sic 
matters." 

15. I would observe, that Scott seemed to derive more con- 
sequence in the neighborhood from being sheriff of the county 
than from being poet. 

16. In the interior of the Abbey, Johnny Bower conducted 
me to the identical stone on which Stout William of Deloraine 
and the Monk took their seat on that memorable night when 



ABBOTSFOED 203 

the wizard's book was to be rescued from the grave. Nay, 
Johnny had even gone beyond Scott in the minuteness of his 
antiquarian research, for he had discovered the very tomb 
of the wizard, the position of which had been left in doubt by 
the poet. This he boasted to have ascertained by the posi- 
tion of the oriel window, and the direction in which the moon- 
beams fell at night, through the stained glass, casting the 
shadow to the red cross on the spot ; as had all been specified 
in the poem. "I pointed out the whole to the shirra," said 
he, "and he could na' gainsay but it was varra clear." I 
found afterwards, that Scott used to amuse himself with the 
simplicity of the old man, and his zeal in verifying every 
passage of the poem, as though it had been authentic history, 
and that he always acquiesced in his deductions. I subjoin 
the description of the wizard's grave, which called forth the 
antiquarian research of Johnny Bower. 

"Lo, warrior! now the cross of red 
Points to the grave of the mighty dead ; 
Slow moved the monk to the broad fiag-stone, 
Which the bloody cross was traced upon : 
He pointed to a sacred nook 
An iron bar the warrior took ; 

And the monk made a sign with his withered hand, 
The grave's huge portal to expand. 

" It was by dint of passing strength 
That he moved the massy stone at length. 
I would you had been there, to see 
How the light broke forth so gloriously, 
Streamed upward to the chancel roof, 
And through the galleries far aloof ! 

And, issuing from the tomb, 
Showed the monk's cowl and visage pale, 
Danced on the dark brown warrior's mail, 

And kissed his waving plume. 

"Before their eyes the wizard lay, 
As if he had not been dead a day. 
His hoary beard in silver rolled, 
He seemed some seventy winters old ; 
A palmer's amice wrapped him round; 
With a wrought Spanish baldric bound, 

Like a pilgrim from beyond the sea ; 
His left hand held his book of might ; 
A silver cross was in his right : 

The lamp was placed beside his knee." 



204 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

17. The fictions of Scott had become facts with honest 
Johnny Bower. From constantly Uving among the ruins 
of Meh'ose Abbey, and pointing out the scenes of the poem, 
the "Lay of the Last Minstrel" had, in a manner, become 
interwoven with his whole existence, and I doubt whether he 
did not now and then mix up his own identity with the per- 
sonages of some of its cantos. 

18. He could not bear that any other production of the 
poet should be preferred to the "Lay of the Last Minstrel." 
"Faith," said he to me, "it's just e'en ^s gude a thing as Mr. 
Scott has written — an' if he were stannin' there I'd tell him 
so — an' then he'd lauff." 

19. He was loud in his praises of the affability of Scott. 
"He'll come here sometimes," said he, "with great folks in 
his company, an' the first I know of it is his voice, calling out 
Johnny ! — Johnny Bower ! — and when I go out, I am sure 
to be greeted with a joke or a pleasant word. He'll stand 
and crack and lauff wi' me, just like an auld wife — and to 
think that of a man that has such an awfu' knowledge o' 
history ! " 

20. One of the ingenious devices on which the worthy little 
man prided himself, was to place a visitor opposite to the 
Abbey, with his back to it and bid him bend down and look 
at it between his legs. This, he said, gave an entire different 
aspect to the ruin. Folks admired the plan amazingly, but 
as to the "leddies," they were dainty on the matter, and con- 
tented themselves with looking from under their arms. 

21. As Johnny Bower piqued himself upon showing every- 
thing laid down in the poem, there was one passage that per- 
plexed him sadly. It was the opening of one of the cantos : 

"If thou wouldst view fair Melrose aright, 
Go visit it by the pale moonlight ; 
For the gay beams of lightsome day 
Gild but to flout the ruins gray," &c. 

22. In consequence of this admonition, many of the most 
devout pilgrims to the ruin could not be contented with a day- 
light inspection, and insisted it could be nothing, unless seen 
by the light of the moon. Now, unfortunately, the moon 



ABBOTSFOED 



205 



shines but for a part of the month; and what is still more 
unfortunate, is very apt in Scotland to be obscured by clouds 
and mists. Johnny was sorely puzzled, therefore, how to 
accommodate his poetry-struck visitors with this indispen- 
sable moonshine. At length, in a lucky moment, he devised a 
substitute. This was a great double tallow candle, stuck 
upon the end of a pole, with which he could conduct his 
visitors about the ruins on dark nights, so much to their satis- 
faction that, at length, he began to think it even preferable 
to the moon itself. " It does na light up a' the Abbey at aince, 
to be sure," he would say, "but then you can shift it about and 
show the auld ruin bit by bit, whiles the moon only shines on 
one side." 




Melrose Abbey 



23. Honest Johnny Bower! so many years have elapsed 
since the time I treat of, that it is more than probable his 
simple head lies beneath the walls of his favorite Abbey. It is 
to be hoped his humble ambition has been gratified, and his 
name recorded by the pen of the man he so loved and honored. 

24. After my return from Melrose Abbey, Scott proposed 
a ramble to show me something of the surrounding country. 
As we sallied forth, every dog in the establishment turned out 
to attend us. There was the old stag-hound Maida, that I 
have already mentioned, a noble animal, and a great favorite 
of Scott's ; and Hamlet, the black greyhound, a wild thought- 
less youngster, not yet arrived to the years of discretion ; and 



206 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

Finette, a beautiful setter, with soft silken hair, long pendent 
ears, and a mild eye, the parlor favorite. When in the front of 
the house, we were joined by a superannuated greyhound, 
who came from the kitchen wagging his tail, and was cheered 
by Scott as an old friend and comrade. 

25. In our walks, Scott would frequently pause in con- 
versation to notice his dogs and speak to them, as if rational 
companions; and indeed there appears to be a vast deal of 
rationality in these faithful attendants on man, derived from 
their close intimacy with him. Maida deported himself with 
a gravity becoming his age and size, and seemed to consider 
himself called upon to preserve a great degree of dignity and 
decorum in our society. As he jogged along a little distance 
ahead of us, the young dogs would gambol about him, leap 
on his neck, worry at his ears, and endeavor to tease him 
into a frolic. The old dog would keep on for a long time with 
imperturbable solemnity, now and then seeming to rebuke the 
wantonness of his young companions. At length he would 
make a sudden turn, seize one of them, and tumble him in the 
dust; then giving a glance at us, as much as to say, "You 
see, gentlemen, I can't help giving way to this nonsense," 
would resume his gravity and jog on as before. 

26. Scott amused himself with these peculiarities. ''I 
make no doubt," said he, "when Maida is alone with these 
young dogs, he throws gravity aside, and plays the boy as 
much as any of them ; but he is ashamed to do so in our 
company, and seems to say, 'Ha' done with your nonsense, 
youngsters; what will the laird and that other gentleman 
think of me if I give way to such foolery ? ' " 

27. Maida reminded him, he said, of a scene on board an 
armed yacht in which he made an excursion with his friend 
Adam Ferguson. They had taken much notice of the boat- 
swain, who was a fine sturdy seaman, and evidently felt 
flattered by their attention. On one occasion the crew were 
"piped to fun," and the sailors were dancing and cutting all 
kinds of capers to the music of the ship's band. The boat- 
swain looked on with a wistful eye, as if he would like to join 
in ; but a glance at Scott and Ferguson showed that there was 



ABBOTSFOKD 207 

a struggle with his dignity, fearing to lessen himself in their 
eyes. At length one of his messmates came up, and, seizing 
him by the arm, challenged him to a jig. "The boatswain," 
continued Scott, ''after a little hesitation complied, made an 
awkward gambol or two, like our friend Maida, but soon gave 
it up. 'It's of no use,' said he, jerking up his waistband and 
giving a side-glance at us, 'one can't dance always nouther.'" 

28. Scott amused himself with the peculiarities of another 
of his dogs, a little shamefaced terrier, with large glassy eyes, 
one of the most sensitive little bodies to insult and indignity 
in the world. If ever he whipped him, he said, the little 
fellow would sneak off and hide himself from the light of day, 
in a lumber-garret, whence there was no drawing him forth 
but by the sound of the chopping-knife, as if chopping up his 
victuals, when he would steal forth with humbled and down- 
cast look, but would skulk away again if any one regarded 
him. 

29. While we were discussing the humors and peculiarities 
of our canine companions, some object provoked their spleen, 
and produced a sharp and petulant barking from the smaller 
fry, but it was some time before Maida was sufficiently aroused 
to ramp forward two or three bounds and join in the chorus, 
with a deep-mouthed bow-wow ! 

30. It was but a transient outbreak, and he returned in- 
stantly, wagging his tail, and looking up dubiously in his 
master's face; uncertain whether he would censure or ap- 
plaud. 

31. "Aye, aye, old boy!" cried Scott, "you have done 
wonders. You have shaken the Eildon hills with your roaring ; 
you may now lay by your artillery for the rest of the day. 
Maida is like the great gun at Constantinople," pontinued he; 
"it takes so long to get it ready, that the small guns can fire 
off a dozen times first, but when it does go off it plays the 
very d — 1." 

32. These simple anecdotes may serve to show the delight- 
ful play of Scott's humors and feelings in private life. His 
domestic animals were his friends; everything about him 
seemed to rejoice in the light of his countenance : the face of 



208 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

the humblest dependant brightened at his approach, as if he 
anticipated a cordial and cheering word. I had occasion to 
observe this particularly in a visit which we paid to a quarry, 
whence several men were cutting stone for the new edifice ; 
who all paused from their labor to have a pleasant " crack wi' 
the laird." One of them was a burgess of Selkirk, with whom 
Scott had some joke about the old song, — 

"Up with the Souters o' Selkirk, 
And down with the Earl of Home." 

Another was precentor at the Kirk, and, beside leading the 
psalmody on Sunday, taught the lads and lasses of the 
neighborhood dancing on week-days, in the winter-time, when 
out-of-door labor was scarce. 

33. Among the rest was a tall, straight old fellow, with a 
healthful complexion and silver hair, and a small round- 
crowned white hat. He had been about to shoulder a hod, 
but paused, and stood looking at Scott, with a slight spark- 
ling of his blue eye, as if waiting his turn ; for the old fellow 
knew himself to be a favorite. 

34. Scott accosted him in an affable tone, and asked for a 
pinch of snuff. The old man drew forth a horn snuff-box. 
"Hoot, man," said Scott, "not that old mull: where's the 
bonnie French one that I brought you from Paris ? " — 
"Troth, your honor," replied the old fellow, "sic a mull as 
that is nae for week-days." 

35. On leaving the quarry, Scott informed me that when 
absent at Paris, he had purchased several trifling articles as 
presents for his dependants, and among others the gay snuff- 
box in question, which was so carefully reserved for Sundays 
by the veteran. " It was not so much the value of the gifts," 
said he, "that pleased them, as the idea that the laird should 
think of them when so far away." 

36. The old man in question, I found, was a great favorite 
with Scott. If I recollect right, he had been a soldier in early 
life, and his straight, erect person, his ruddy yet rugged coun- 
tenance, his gray hair, and an arch gleam in his blue eye, re- 



ABBOTSFORD 209 

minded me of the description of Edie Ochiltree. I find that 
the old fellow has since been introduced by Wilkie, in his 
picture of the Scott family. 

37. We rambled on among scenes which had been familiar 
in Scottish song, and rendered classic by the pastoral muse, 
long before Scott had thrown the rich mantle of his poetry 
over them. What a thrill of pleasure did I feel when first I 
saw the broom-covered tops of the Cowden Knowes, peeping 
above the gray hills of the Tweed; and what touching as- 
sociations were called up by the sight of Ettrick Vale, Galla 
Water, and the Braes of Yarrow ! Every turn brought to 
mind some household air — some almost forgotten song of 
the nursery, by which I had been lulled to sleep in my child- 
hood ; and with them the looks and voices of those who had 
sung them, and who were now no more. It is these melodies, 
chanted in our ears in the days of infancy, and connected with 
the memory of those we have loved, and who have passed 
away, that clothe Scottish landscape with such tender associa- 
tions. The Scottish songs, in general, have something intrinsi- 
cally melancholy in them ; owing, in all probability, to the pas- 
toral and lonely life of those who composed them ; who were 
often mere shepherds, tending their flocks in the solitary glens, 
or folding them among the naked hills. Many of these rustic 
bards have passed away, without leaving a name behind them ; 
nothing remains of them but their sweet and touching songs, 
which live, like echoes, about the places they once inhabited. 
Most of these simple effusions of pastoral poets are linked 
with some favorite haunt of the poet ; and in this way, not a 
mountain or valley, a town or tower, green shaw or running 
stream, in Scotland, but has some popular air connected with 
it, that makes its very name a key-note to a whole train of 
delicious fancies and feelings. 

38. Let me step forward in time, and mention how sensible 
I was to the power of these simple airs, in a visit which I made 
to Ayr, the birthplace of Robert Burns. I passed a whole 
morning about "the banks and braes of bonnie Doon," with 
his tender little love-verses running in my head. I found a poor 
Scotch carpenter at work among the ruins of Kirk Alloway, 



210 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

which was to be converted into a school-house. Finding the 
purpose of my visit, he left his work, sat down with me on a 
grassy grave, close by where Burns' father was buried, and 
talked of the poet, whom he had known personally. He said 
his songs were familiar to the poorest and most illiterate of 
the country folk, "and it seemed to him as if the country had 
grown more beautiful since Burns had written his bonny little 
songs about it." 

39. I found Scott was quite an enthusiast on the subject 
of the popular songs of his country, and he seemed gratified 
to find me so alive to them. Their effect in calling up in my 
mind the recollections of early times and scenes in which I had 
first heard them, reminded him, he said, of the lines of his 
poor friend, Leyden, to the Scottish Muse : — 

"In youth's first morn, alert and gay, 
Ere rolling years had passed away, 
Remembered like a morning dream, 
I heard the dulcet measures float, 
In many a liquid winding note, 

Along the bank of Teviot's stream. 

"Sweet sounds ! that oft have soothed to rest 
The sorrows of my guileless breast, 
And charmed away mine infant tears ; 
Fond memory shall your strains repeat, 
Like distant echoes, doubly sweet, 

That on the wild the traveller hears." 

40. Scott went on to expatiate on the popular songs of 
Scotland. "They are a part of our national inheritance," 
said he, " and something that we may truly call our own. They 
have no foreign taint; they have the pure breath of the 
heather and the mountain breeze. All the genuine legitimate 
races that have descended from the ancient Britons, such as 
the Scotch, the Welsh, and the Irish, have national airs. 
The English have none, because they are not natives of the 
soil, or, at least, are mongrels. Their music is all made up 
of foreign scraps, like a harlequin jacket, or a piece of mosaic. 
Even in Scotland we have comparatively few national songs 
in the eastern part, where we have had most influx of strangers. 
A real old Scottish song is a cairn gorm — a gem of our own 



ABBOTSFORD 211 

mountains ; or, rather, it is a precious relic of old times, that 
bears the national character stamped upon it, — like a cameo, 
that shows where the national visage was in former days, 
before the breed was crossed." 

41. While Scott was thus discoursing, we were passing 
up a narrow glen, with the dogs beating about, to right and 
left, when suddenly a black cock burst upon the wing. 

42. "Aha!" cried Scott, ''there will be a good shot for 
master Walter; we must send him this way with his gun, 
when we go home. Walter's the family sportsman now, and 
keeps us in game. I have pretty nigh resigned my gun to 
him ; for I find I cannot trudge about as briskly as formerly." 

43. Our ramble took us on the hills commanding an ex- 
tensive prospect. "Now," said Scott, "I have brought you, 
like the pilgrim in the 'Pilgrim's Progress,' to the top of the 
Delectable Mountains, that I may show you all the goodly 
regions hereabouts. Yonder is Lammermuir, and Smal- 
holme; and there you have Gallashiels, and Torwoodlie, 
and Galla Water ; and in that direction you see Teviotdale, 
and the Braes of Yarrow ; and Ettrick stream, winding along, 
like a silver thread, to throw itself into the Tweed." 

44. He went on thus to call over names celebrated in 
Scottish song, and most of which had recently received a 
romantic interest from his own pen. In fact, I saw a great 
part of the border country spread out before me, and could 
trace the scenes of those poems and romances which had, in a 
manner, bewitched the world. I gazed about me for a time 
with mute surprise, I may almost say with disappointment. 
I beheld a mere succession of gray waving hills, line beyond 
line, as far as my eye could reach ; monotonous in their as- 
pect, and so destitute of trees that one could almost see a 
stout fly walking along their profile; and the far-famed 
Tweed appeared a naked stream, flowing between bare hills, 
without a tree or thicket on its banks ; and yet, such had been 
the magic web of poetry and romance thrown over the whole, 
that it had a greater charm for me than the richest scenery I 
beheld in England. 

45. I could not help giving utterance to my thoughts. 



212 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

Scott hummed for a moment to himself, and looked grave; 
he had no idea of having his muse complimented at the ex- 
pense of his native hills. ''It may be partiality," said he, at 
length; "but to my eye these gray hills and all this wild 
border country have beauties peculiar to themselves. I like 
the very nakedness of the land ; it has something bold, and 
stern, and solitary about it. When I have been for some 
time in the rich scenery about Edinburgh, which is like orna- 
mented garden-land, I begin to wish myself back again among 
my own honest gray hills ; and if I did not see the heather at 
least once a year, / think I should die!" 

46. The last words were said with an honest warmth, 
accompanied with a thump on the ground with his staff, by 
way of emphasis, that showed his heart was in his speech. 
He vindicated the Tweed, too, as a beautiful stream in itself, 
and observed that he did not dislike it for being bare of trees, 
probably from having been much of an angler in his time, 
and an angler does not like to have a stream overhung by 
trees, which embarrass him in the exercise of his rod and line. 

47. I took occasion to plead, in like manner, the associa- 
tions of early life, for my disappointment in respect to the 
surrounding scenery. I had been so accustomed to hills 
crowned with forests, and streams breaking their way through 
a wilderness of trees, that all my ideas of romantic landscape 
were apt to be well wooded. 

48. "Aye, and that's the great charm of your country," 
cried Scott. " You love the forest as I do the heather, — 
but I would not have you think I do not feel the glory of a 
great woodland prospect. There is nothing I should like 
more than to be in the midst of one of your grand, wild, origi- 
nal forests : with the idea of hundreds of miles of untrodden 
forest around me. I once saw, at Leith, an immense stick 
of timber, just landed from America. It must have been an 
enormous tree when it stood on its native soil, at its full 
height, and with all its branches. I gazed at it with admira- 
tion ; it seemed like one of the gigantic obelisks which are now 
and then brought from Egypt, to shame the pigmy monu- 
ments of Europe; and, in fact, these vast aboriginal trees, 



ABBOTSFORD 213 

that have sheltered the Indians before the intrusion of the 
white men, are the monuments and antiquities of your coun- 
try." 

49. The conversation here turned upon Campbell's poem 
of "Gertrude of Wyoming/' as illustrative of the poetic 
materials furnished by American scenery. Scott spoke of it 
in that liberal style in which I always found him to speak of 
the writings of his contemporaries. He cited several pas- 
sages of it with great delight. ''What a pity it is," said 
he, "that Campbell does not write more and oftener, and 
give full sweep to his genius. He has wings that would bear 
him to the skies; and he does now and then spread them 
grandly, but folds them up again and resumes his perch, 
as if he was afraid to launch away. He don't know or 
won't trust his own strength. Even when he has done a 
thing well, he has often misgivings about it. He left out 
several fine passages of his 'Lochiel,'but I got him to restore 
some of them." Here Scott repeated several passages in 
a magnificent style. "What a grand idea is that," said 
he, "about prophetic boding, or, in common parlance, 
second sight, — 

" 'Coming events cast their shadows before.' 

It is a noble thought, and nobly expressed. And there's that 
glorious little poem, too, of ' Hohenlinden ' ; after he had 
written it, he did not seem to think much of it, but con- 
sidered some of it 'd — d drum and trumpet lines.' I got 
him to recite it to me, and I believe that the delight I felt 
and expressed had an effect in inducing him to print it. The 
fact is," added he, "Campbell is, in a manner, a bugbear 
to himself. The brightness of his early success is a detri- 
ment to all his further efforts. He is afraid of the shadow 
that his own fame casts before him." 

50. While we were thus chatting, we heard the report of 
a gun among the hills. "That's Walter, I think," said Scott; 
"he has finished his morning's studies, and is out with his gun. 
I should not be surprised if he had met with the black cock ; 



^14 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

if so, we shall have an addition to our larder, for Walter is 
a pretty sure shot.'' 

51. I inquired into the nature of Walter's studies. 
"Faith," said Scott, "I can't say much on that head. I am 
not over-bent upon making prodigies of any of my children. 
As to Walter, I taught him, while a boy, to ride, and shoot, 
and speak the truth ; as to the other parts of his education, 
I leave them to a very worthy young man, the son of one of 
our clergymen, who instructs all my children." 

52. I afterwards became acquainted with the young man 
in question, George Thomson, son of the minister of Melrose, 
and found him possessed of much learning, intelligence, and 
modest worth. He used to come every day from his father's 
residence at Melrose, to superintend the studies of the young 
folks, and occasionally took his meals at Abbotsford, where 
he was highly esteemed. Nature had cut him out, Scott 
\ised to say, for a stalwart soldier; for he was tall, vigorous, 
active, and fond of athletic exercises; but accident had 
marred her work, the loss of a limb in boyhood having re- 
duced him to a wooden leg. He was brought up, therefore, 
for the church, whence he was occasionally called the Domi- 
nie, and is supposed, by his mixture of learning, simplicity, 
and amiable eccentricity, to have furnished many traits for 
the character of Dominie Sampson. I believe he often acted 
as Scott's amanuensis, when composing his novels. With him 
the young people were occupied, in general, during the early 
part of the day, after which they took all kinds of healthful 
recreations in the open air; for Scott was as solicitous to 
strengthen their bodies as their minds. 

53. We had not walked much further before we saw the 
two Miss Scotts advancing along the hillside to meet us. 
The morning's studies being over, they had set off to take a 
■ramble on the hills, and gather heather-blossoms with which 
to decorate their hair for dinner. As they came bounding 
lightly like young fawns, and their dresses fluttering in the 
pure summer breeze, I was reminded of Scott's own descrip- 
tion of his children in his introduction to one of the cantos 
of "Marmion," — 



ABBOTSFOKD 215 

" My imps, though hardy, bold, and wild, 
As best befits the mountain-child, 
Their summer gambols tell and mourn. 
And anxious ask will spring return, 
And birds and lambs again be gay, 
And blossoms clothe the hawthorn spray ? " 

"Yes, prattlers, yes, the daisy's flower. 
Again shall paint your summer bower ; 
Again the hawthorn shall supply 
The garlands you delight to tie ; 
The lambs upon the lea shall bound, 
The wild birds carol to the round. 
And while you frolic light as they. 
Too short shall seem the summer day." 

As they approached, the dogs aJl sprang forward and gam- 
bolled around them. They played with them for a time, and 
then joined us with countenances full of health and glee. 
Sophia, the eldest, was the most lively and- joyous, having 
much of her father's varied spirit in conversation, and seeming 
to catch excitement from his words and looks. Ann was 
of quieter mood, rather silent, owing, in some measure, no 
doubt, to her being some years younger. 

54. At dinner, Scott had laid by his half rustic dress, and 
appeared clad in black. The girls, too, in completing their 
toilet, had twisted in their hair the sprigs of purple heather 
which they had gathered on the hill-side, and looked all fresh 
and blooming from their breezy walk. 

55. There was no guest at dinner but myself. Around 
the table were two or three dogs in attendance. Maida, the 
old stag-hound, took his seat at Scott's elbow, looking up 
wistfully in his master's eye, while Finette, the pet spaniel, 
placed herself near Mrs. Scott, by whom, I soon perceived, 
she was completely spoiled. 

56. The conversation happening to turn on the merits 
of his dogs, Scott spoke with great feeling and affection of his 
favorite. Camp, who is depicted by his side in the earlier 
engravings of him. He talked of him as of a real friend whom 
he had lost ; and Sophia Scott, looking up archly in his face, 
observed that papa shed a few tears when poor Camp died. 
I may here mention another testimonial of Scott's fondness 



216 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

for his dogs, and his humorous mode of showing it, which I 
subsequently met with. RambUng with him one morning 
about the grounds adjacent to the house, I observed a small 
antique monument, on which was inscribed, in Gothic char- 
acters, — 

" Cy git le preux Percy." 
^ (Here lies the brave Percy.) 

I paused, supposing it to be the tomb of some stark warrior of 
the olden time, but Scott drew me on. *'Pooh!" cried he, 
"it's nothing but one of the monuments of my nonsense, of 
which you'll find enough hereabouts." I learnt afterwards 
that it was the grave of a favorite greyhound. 

57. Among the other important and privileged members 
of the household who figured in attendance at the dinner, was 
a large gray cat, who, I observed, was regaled from time to 
time with titbits from the table. This sage grimalkin was a 
favorite of both master and mistress, and slept at night in 
their room; and Scott laughingly observed, that one of the 
least wise parts of their establishment was, that the window 
was left open at night for puss to go in and out. The cat 
assumed a kind of ascendency among the quadrupeds — sit- 
ting in state in Scott's arm-chair, and occasionally stationing 
himself on a chair beside the door, as if to review his subjects 
as they passed, giving each dog a cuff beside the ears as he 
went by. This clapper-clawing was always taken in good part ; 
it appeared to be, in fact, a mere act of sovereignty on the 
part of grimalkin, to remind the others of their vassalage; 
which they acknowledged by the most perfect acquiescence. 
A general harmony prevailed between sovereign and sub- 
jects, and they would all sleep together in the sunshine. 

58. Scott was full of anecdote and conversation during 
dinner. He made some admirable remarks upon the Scot- 
tish character, and spoke strongly in praise of the quiet, 
orderly, honest conduct of his neighbors, which one would 
hardly expect, said he, from the descendants of moss-troopers 
and borderers, in a neighborhood famed in old times for 
brawl and feud, and violence of all kinds. He said he had, 



ABBOTSFORD 



217 



in his official capacity of sheriff, administered the laws for a 
number of years, during which there had been very few trials. 




Sib Walter Scott 
After the painting by Sir W. Allan, in 1832 

The old feuds and local interests, and rivalries, and ani- 
mosities of the Scotch, however, still slept, he said, in their 
ashes, and might easily be roused. Their hereditary feeling 
for names was still great. It was not always safe to have 



218 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

even the game of foot-ball between villages, the old clannish 
spirit was too apt to break out. The Scotch, he said, were 
more revengeful than the English; they carried their re- 
sentments longer, and would sometimes lay them by for years, 
but would be sure to gratify them in the end. 

59. The ancient jealousy between the Highlanders and 
the Lowlanders still continued to a certain degree, the former 
looking upon the latter as an inferior race, less brave and 
hardy, but at the same time suspecting them of a disposition 
to take airs upon themselves under the idea of superior re- 
finement. This made them techy and ticklish company 
for a stranger on his first coming among them ; ruffling up and 
putting themselves upon their mettle on the slightest occa- 
sion, so that he had in a manner to quarrel and fight his way 
into their good graces. 

60. He instanced a case in point in a brother of Mungo 
Park, who went to take up his residence in a wild neighbor- 
hood of the Highlands. He soon found himself considered as 
an intruder, and that there was a disposition among these 
cocks of the hills to fix a quarrel on him, trusting that, being 
a Lowlander, he would show the white feather. 

61. For a time he bore their flings and taunts with great 
coolness, until one, presuming on his forbearance, drew forth a 
dirk, and holding it before him, asked him if he had ever seen 
a weapon like that in his part of the country. Park, who was 
a Hercules in frame, seized the dirk, and, with one blow, drove 
it through an oaken table. "Yes," replied he, "and tell 
your friends that a man from the Lowlands drove it where the 
devil himself cannot draw it out again." All persons were 
delighted with the feat, and the words that accompanied it. 
They drank with Park to a better acquaintance, and were 
stanch friends ever afterwards. 

62. After dinner we adjourned to the drawing-room, which 
served also for study and library. Against the wall on one 
side was a long writing-table, with drawers; surmounted by 
a small cabinet of polished wood, with folding-doors richly 
studded with brass ornaments, within which Scott kept his 



ABBOTSFOBD 219 

most valuable papers. Above the cabinet, in a kind of niche, 
was a complete corselet of glittering steel, with a closed hel- 
met, and flanked by gauntlets and battle-axes. Around were 
hung trophies and relics of various kinds : a cimeter of Tippoo 
Saib; a Highland broadsword from Floddenfield ; a pair of 
Ripon spurs from Bannockburn, and above all, a gun which 
had belonged to Rob Roy, and bore his initials, R. M. G., — 
an object of peculiar interest to me at the time, as it was 
understood Scott was actually engaged in printing a novel 
founded on the story of that famous outlaw. 

63. On each side of the cabinet were bookcases, well 
stored with works of romantic fiction in various languages, 
many of them rare and antiquated. This, however, was 
merely his cottage library, the principal part of his books 
being at Edinburgh. 

64. From this little cabinet of curiosities Scott drew forth 
a manuscript picked up on the field of Waterloo, containing 
copies of several songs popular at the time in France. The 
paper was dabbled with blood — " the very life-blood, very pos- 
sibly," said Scott, "of some gay young officer, who had cher- 
ished these songs as a keepsake from some lady-love in Paris." 

65. He adverted in a mellow and delightful manner to the 
little half gay, half melancholy campaigning song, said to 
have been composed by General Wolfe, and sung by him at 
the messtable, on the eve of the storming of Quebec, in which 
he fell so gloriously. 

"Why, soldiers, why, 
Should we be melancholy, boys ? 
Why, soldiers, why, 
Whose business 'tis to die ! 
For should next campaign 
Send us to Him who made us, boys, 
We're free from pain : 
But should we remain, 
A bottle and kind landlady 
Makes all well again." 

66. "So," added he, "the poor lad who fell at Waterloo, in 
all probability, had been singing these songs in his tent the 
night before the battle, and thinking of the fair dame who had 



220 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

taught him them, and promising himself, should he outlive 
the campaign, to return to her all glorious from the wars." 

67. I find since that Scott published translations of these 
songs among some of his smaller poems. 

68. The evening passed away delightfully in this quaint- 
looking apartment, half study, half drawing-room. Scott 
read several passages from the old romance of Arthur, with 
a fine deep sonorous voice, and a gravity of tone that seemed 
to suit the antiquated, black-letter volume. It was a rich 
treat to hear such a work, read by such a person, and in such 
a place ; and his appearance as he sat reading, in a large armed 
chair, with his favorite hound Maida at his feet, and sur- 
rounded by books and relics, and border trophies, would 
have formed an admirable and most characteristic picture. 

69. While Scott was reading, the sage grimalkin already 
mentioned had taken his seat in a chair beside the fire, and 
remained with fixed eye and grave demeanor, as if listening 
to the reader. I observed to Scott that his cat seemed to 
have a black-letter taste in literature. 

70. "Ah," said he, "these cats are a very mysterious kind 
of folk. There is always more passing in their minds than we 
are aware of. It comes no doubt from their being so familiar 
with witches and warlocks." He went on to tell a little story 
about a gude man who was returning to his cottage one night, 
when, in a lonely out-of-the-way place, he met with a funeral 
procession of cats all in mourning, bearing one of their race 
to the grave in a coffin covered with a black velvet pall. The 
worthy man, astonished and half frightened at so strange a 
pageant, hastened home and told what he had seen to his 
wife and children. Scarce had he finished, when a great 
black cat that sat beside the fire raised himself up, exclaimed, 
"Then I am king of the cats !" and vanished up the chimney. 
The funeral seen by the gude man was one of the cat dynasty. 

71. "Our grimalkin here," added Scott, "sometimes 
reminds me of the story, by the airs of sovereignty which he 
assumes; and I am apt to treat him with respect from the 
idea that he may be a great prince incog., and may some time 
or other come to the throne." 



ABBOTSFOED 221 

72. In this way Scott would make the habits and pecul- 
iarities of even the dumb animals about him subjects for 
humorous remark or whimsical story. 

73. Our evening was enlivened also by an occasional song 
from Sophia Scott, at the request of her father. She never 
wanted to be asked twice, but complied frankly and cheer- 
fully. Her songs were all Scotch, sung without any accom- 
paniment, in a simple manner, but with great spirit and ex- 
pression, and in their native dialects, which gave them an 
additional charm. It was delightful to hear her carol off in 
sprightly style, and with an animated air, some of those gener- 
ous-spirited old Jacobite songs, once current among the ad- 
herents of the Pretender in Scotland, in which he is designated 
by the appellation of "The Young Chevalier." 

74. These songs were much relished by Scott, notwithstand- 
ing his loyalty; for the unfortunate "Chevalier" has always 
been a hero of romance with him, as he has with many other 
stanch adherents to the House of Hanover, now that the 
Stuart line has lost all its terrors. In speaking on the subject, 
Scott mentioned as a curious fact, that, among the papers of 
the "Chevalier," which had been submitted by government 
to his inspection, he had found a memorial to Charles from 
some adherents in America, dated 1778, proposing to set up 
his standard in the back settlements. I regret that, at the 
time, I did not make more particular inquiries of Scott on the 
subject; the document in question, however, in all probabil- 
ity, still exists among the Pretender's papers, which are in 
the possession of the British Government. 

75. In the course of the evening, Scott related the story 
of a whimsical picture hanging in the room, which had been 
drawn for him by a lady of his acquaintance. It represented 
the doleful perplexity of a wealthy and handsome young Eng- 
lish knight of the olden time, who, in the course of a border 
foray, had been captured and carried off to the castle of a hard- 
headed and high-handed old baron. The unfortunate youth 
was thrown into a dungeon, and a tall gallows erected before 
the castle-gate for his execution. When all was ready, he 
was brought into the castle-hall, where the grim baron was 



222 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

seated in state, with his warriors armed to the teeth around 
him, and was given his choice, either to swing on the gibbet 
or to marry the baron's daughter. The last may be thought 
an easy alternative, but, unfortunately, the baron's young 
lady was hideously ugly, with a mouth from ear to ear, so that 
not a suitor was to be had for her, either for love or money, 
and she was known throughout the border country by the 
name of Muckle-mouthed Mag. 

76. The picture in question represented the unhappy 
dilemma of the handsome youth. Before him sat the grim 
baron, with a face worthy of the father of such a daughter, 
and looking daggers and ratsbane. On one side of him was 
Muckle-mouthed Mag, with an amorous smile across the 
whole breadth of her countenance, and a leer enough to turn 
a man to stone ; on the other side was the father confessor, 
a sleek friar, jogging the youth's elbow, and pointing to the 
gallows, seen in perspective through the open portal. 

77. The story goes, that, after long laboring in mind be- 
tween the altar and the halter, the love of life prevailed, and 
the youth resigned himself to the charms of Muckle-mouthed 
Mag. Contrary to all the probabilities of romance, the match 
proved a happy one. The baron's daughter, if not beautiful, 
was a most exemplary wife ; her husband was never troubled 
with any of those doubts and jealousies which sometimes mar 
the happiness of connubial life, and was made the father of 
a fair and undoubtedly legitimate line, which still flourishes 
on the border. 

78. I give but a faint outline of the story from vague 
recollection; it may, perchance, be more richly related 
elsewhere, by some one who may retain something of the 
delightful humor with which Scott recounted it. 

79. When I retired for the night, I found it almost im- 
possible to sleep ; the idea of being under the roof of Scott, 
of being on the borders of the Tweed, in the very centre of 
that region which had for some time past been the favorite 
scene of romantic fiction, and above all the recollections 
of the ramble I had taken, the company in which I 
had taken it, and the conversation which had passed, all 



ABBOTSFOED 



223 



fermented in my mind, and nearly drove sleep from my 
pillow. 

80. On the following morning the sun darted his beams 
from over the hills through the low lattice window. I rose 
at an early hour, and looked out between the branches of 
eglantine which over-hung the casement. To my surprise 
Scott was already up and forth, seated on a fragment of stone. 




Abbotsford and the Eildon Hills 
From a photograph by Valentine & Sons, Dundee 

and chatting with the workmen employed on the new building. 
I had supposed, after the time he had wasted upon me yester- 
day, he would be closely occupied this morning; but he ap- 
peared like a man of leisure, who had nothing to do but bask 
in the sunshine and amuse himself. 

81. I soon dressed myself and joined him. He talked 
about his proposed plans of Abbotsford : happy would it have 
been for him could he have contented himself with his delight- 
ful little vine-covered cottage, and the simple yet hearty and 
hospitable style in which he lived at the time of my visit. 
The great pile of Abbotsford, with the huge expense it en- 
tailed upon him, of servants, retainers, guests, and baronial 



224 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

style, was a drain upon his purse, a tax upon his exertions, 
and a weight upon his mind, that finally crushed him. 

82. As yet, however, all was in embryo and perspective, 
and Scott pleased himself with picturing out his future resi- 
dence, as he would one of the fanciful creations of his own 
romances. "It was one of his air-castles," he said, ''which 
he was reducing to solid stone and mortar," About the place 
were strewed various morsels from the ruins of Melrose Abbey, 
which were to be incorporated in his mansion. He had al- 
ready constructed out of similar materials a kind of Gothic 
shrine over a spring, and had surmounted it by a small stone 
cross. 

83. Among the relics from the Abbey which lay scattered 
before us, was a most quaint and antique little lion, either of 
red stone, or painted red, which hit my fancy. I forget whose 
cognizance it was; but I shall never forget the delightful 
observations concerning old Melrose to which it accidentally 
gave rise. 

84. The Abbey was evidently a pile that called up all 
Scott's poetic and romantic feelings; and one to which he 
was enthusiastically attached by the most fanciful and delight- 
ful of his early associations. He spoke of it, I may say, with 
affection. "There is no telling," said he, "what treasures 
are hid in that glorious old pile. It is a famous place for 
antiquarian plunder; there are such rich bits of old-time 
sculpture for the architect, and old-time story for the poet. 
There is as rare picking in it as in a Stilton cheese, and in 
the same taste — the mouldier the better. " 

85. He went on to mention circumstances of "mighty 
import" connected with the Abbey, which had never been 
touched, and which had even escaped the researches of 
Johnny Bower. The heart of Robert Bruce, the hero of 
Scotland, had been buried in it. He dwelt on the beautiful 
story of Bruce 's pious and chivalrous request in his dying 
hour, that his heart might be carried to the Holy Land and 
placed in the Holy Sepulchre, in fulfilment of a vow of pil- 
grimage; and of the loyal expedition of Sir James Douglas 
to convey the glorious relic. Much might be made, he said, 



ABBOTSFOED 225 

out of the adventures of Sir James in that adventurous age ; 
of his fortunes in Spain, and his death in a crusade against the 
Moors; with the subsequent fortunes of the heart of Robert 
Bruce until it was brought back to its native land, and en- 
shrined within the holy walls of old Melrose. 

86. As Scott sat on a stone talking in this way, and knock- 
ing with his staff against the little red lion which lay prostrate 
before him, his gray eyes twinkled beneath his shagged eye- 
brows; scenes, images, incidents, kept breaking upon his 
mind as he proceeded, mingled with touches of the mys- 
terious and supernatural as connected with the heart of 
Bruce. It seemed as if a poem or romance were breaking 
vaguely on his imagination. That he subsequently con- 
templated something of the kind, as connected with this 
subject, and with his favorite ruin of Melrose, is evident from 
his introduction to " The Monastery '^ ; and it is a pity that he 
never succeeded in following out these shadowy but enthusi- 
astic conceptions. 

87. A summons to breakfast broke off our conversation, 
when I begged to recommend to Scott's attention my friend 
the little red lion, who had led to such an interesting topic, 
and hoped he might receive some niche or station in the future 
castle, worthy of his evident antiquity and apparent dignity. 
Scott assured me, with comic gravity, that the valiant little 
lion should be most honorably entertained ; I hope, therefore, 
that he still flourishes at Abbotsford. 

88. Before dismissing the theme of the relics from the 
Abbey, I will mention another, illustrative of Scott's varied 
humors. This was a human skull, which had probably be- 
longed of yore to one of those jovial friars so honorably 
mentioned in the old border ballad, — 

"O the monks of Melrose made gude kale 
On Fridays, when they fasted ; 
They wanted neither beef nor ale, 
As long as their neighbors' lasted." 

89. This skull Scott had caused to be cleaned and var- 
nished, and placed it on a chest of drawers in his chamber, 



226 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

immediately opposite his bed ; where I have seen it, grinning 
most dismally. It was an object of great awe and horror to 
the superstitious housemaids ; and Scott used to amuse him- 
self with their apprehensions. Sometimes, in changing his 
dress, he would leave his neck cloth coiled round it like a 
turban, and none of the "lasses" dared to remove it. It was 
a matter of great wonder and speculation among them that 
the laird should have such an "awsome fancy for an auld 
girning skull." 

90. At breakfast that morning Scott gave an amusing ac- 
count of a little Highlander called Campbell of the North, who 
had a lawsuit of many years' standing with a nobleman in his 
neighborhood about the boundaries of their estates. It was 
the leading object of the little man's life ; the running theme 
of all his conversations ; he used to detail all the circumstances 
at full length to everybody he met, and, to aid him in his 
description of the premises, and make his story "mair pre- 
ceese," he had a great map made of his estate, a huge roll sev- 
eral feet long, which he used to carry about on his shoulder. 
Campbell was a long-bodied but short and bandy-legged 
little man, always clad in the Highland garb ; and as he went 
about with this great roll on his shoulder, and his little legs 
curving like a pair of parentheses below his kilt, he was an 
odd figure to behold. He was like little David shouldering 
the spear of Goliath, which was "like unto a weaver's beam." 

91. Whenever sheep-shearing was over, Campbell used 
to set out for Edinburgh to attend to his lawsuit. At the 
inns he paid double for all his meals and his nights' lodging ; 
telling the land-lords to keep it in mind until his return, so that 
he might come back that way at free cost ; for he knew, he said, 
that he would spend all his money among the lawyers at Ed- 
inburgh, so he thought it best to secure a retreat home again. 

92. On one of his visits he called upon his lawyer, but was 
told he was not at home, but his lady was. "It is just the 
same thing," said little Campbell. On being shown into the 
parlor, he unrolled his map, stated his case at full length, and, 
having gone through with his story, gave her the customary 
fee. She would have declined it, but he insisted on her 



ABBOTSFORD 227 

taking it. "I ha' had just as much pleasure/' said he, "in 
telling the whole tale to you as I should have had in telling it 
to your husband, and I believe full as much profit." 

93. The last time he saw Scott, he told him he believed 
he and the laird were near a settlement, as they agreed to 
within a few miles of the boundary. If I recollect right, 
Scott added that he advised the little man to consign his 
cause and his map to the care of "Slow Willie Mowbray," 
of tedious memory: an Edinburgh worthy, much employed 
by the country people, for he tired out everybody in office 
by repeated visits and drawling, endless prolixity, and gained 
every suit by dint of boring. 

94. These little stories and anecdotes, which abounded 
in Scott's conversation, rose naturally out of the subject, and 
were perfectly unforced; though in thus relating them in a 
detached way, without the observations or circumstances 
which led to them, and which have passed from my recollec- 
tion, they want their setting to give them proper relief. 
They will serve, however, to show the natural play of his 
mind, in its familiar moods, and its fecundity in graphic 
and characteristic detail. 

95. His daughter Sophia and his son Charles were those 
of his family who seemed most to feel and understand his 
humors, and to take delight in his conversation. Mrs. Scott 
did not always pay the same attention, and would now and 
then make a casual remark which would operate a little like 
a damper. Thus, one morning at breakfast, when Dominie 
Thompson the tutor was present, Scott was going on with 
great glee to relate an anecdote of the laird of Macnab, "who, 
poor fellow !" premised he, "is dead and gone" — "Why, Mr. 
Scott," exclaimed the good lady, " Macnab 's not dead, is he ? " 
— "Faith, my dear," replied Scott, with humorous gravity, 
"if he's not dead they've done him great injustice, — for 
they've buried him." 

96. The joke passed harmless and unnoticed by Mrs. 
Scott, but hit the poor Dominie just as he had raised a cup of 
tea to his lips, causing a burst of laughter which sent half of 
the contents about the table. 



228 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

97. After breakfast, Scott was occupied for some time 
correcting proof-sheets, which he had received by the maih 
The novel of " Rob Roy," as I have already observed, was at 
that time in the press, and I supposed them to be the proof- 
sheets of that work. The authorship of the Waverley novels 
was still a matter of conjecture and uncertainty; though few 
doubted their being principally written by Scott. One proof 
to me of his being the author, was that he never adverted to 
them. A man so fond of anything Scottish, and anything 
relating to national history or local legend, could not have 
been mute respecting such productions, had they been written 
by another. He was fond of quoting the works of his con- 
temporaries; he was continually reciting scraps of border 
songs, or relating anecdotes of border story. With respect 
to his own poems and their merits, however, he was mute, 
and while with him I observed a scrupulous silence on the 
subject. 

98. I may here mention a singular fact, of which I was 
not aware at the time, that Scott was very reserved with his 
children respecting his own writings, and was even disinclined 
to their reading his romantic poems. I learnt this, some time 
after, from a passage in one of his letters to me, adverting 
to a set of the American miniature edition of his poems, which, 
on my return to England, I forwarded to one of the young 
ladies. "In my hurry," writes he, ''I have not thanked 
you, in Sophia's name, for the kind attention which furnished 
her with the American volumes. I am not quite sure I can 
add my own, since you have made her acquainted with much 
more of papa's folly than she would otherwise have learned ; 
for I have taken special care they should never see any of 
these things during their earlier years." 

99. To return to the thread of my narrative. When Scott 
had got through his brief literary occupation, we set out on a 
ramble. The young ladies started to accompany us, but 
had not gone far when they met a poor old laborer and his 
distressed family, and turned back to take them to the house 
and relieve them. 

100. On passing the bounds of Abbotsford, we came upon 



ABBOTSFORD 229 

a bleak-looking farm, with a forlorn crazy old manse, or farm- 
house, standing in naked desolation. This, however, Scott 
told me was an ancient hereditary property called Lauckend, 
about as valuable as the patrimonial estate of Don Quixote, 
and which, in like manner, conferred an hereditary dignity 
upon its proprietor, who was a laird, and, though poor as a 
rat, prided himself upon his ancient blood, and the standing 
of his house. He was accordingly called Lauckend, according 
to the Scottish custom of naming a man after his family estate, 
but he was more generally known through the country round 
by the name of Lauckie Long Legs, from the length of his 
limbs. While Scott was giving this account of him, we saw 
him at a distance striding along one of his fields, with his 
plaid fluttering about him, and he seemed well to deserve his 
appellation, for he looked all legs and tartan. 

101. Lauckie knew nothing of the world beyond his neigh- 
borhood. Scott told me, that, on returning to Abbotsford 
from his visit to France, immediately after the war, he was 
called on by his neighbors generally, to inquire after foreign 
parts. Among the number, came Lauckie Long Legs and an 
old brother as ignorant as himself. They had many in- 
quiries to make about the French, whom they seemed to con- 
sider some remote and semi-barbarous horde. "And what 
like are thae barbarians in their own country?" said Lauckie, 
" can they write ? — can they cipher ? " He was quite as- 
tonished to learn that they were nearly as much advanced in 
civilization as the gude folks of Abbotsford. 

102. After living for a long time in single blessedness, 
Lauckie all at once, and not long before my visit to the neigh- 
borhood, took it into his head to get married. The neighbors 
were all surprised; but the family connection, who were as 
proud as they were poor, were grievously scandalized, for 
they thought the young woman on whom he had set his mind 
quite beneath him. It was in vain, however, that they re- 
monstrated on the misalliance he was about to make : he was 
not to be swayed from his determination. Arraying himself 
in his best, and saddling a gaunt steed that might have 
rivalled Rosinante, and placing a pillion behind his saddle, he 



230 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

departed to wed and bring home the humble lassie who was 
to be made mistress of the venerable hovel of Lauckend, and 
who lived in a village on the opposite side of the Tweed. 

103. A small event of the kind makes a great stir in a little 
quiet country neighborhood. The word soon circulated 
through the village of Melrose, and cottages in its vicinity, 
that Lauckie Long Legs had gone over the Tweed to fetch 
home his bride. All the good folks assembled at the bridge 
to await his return. Lauckie, however, disappointed them; 
for he crossed the river at a distant ford, and conveyed his 
bride safe to his mansion, without being perceived. 

104. Let me step forward in the course of events and relate 
the fate of poor Lauckie, as it was communicated to me a year 
or two afterwards in a letter by Scott. From the time of his 
marriage he had no longer any peace, owing to the constant 
intermeddlings of his relations, who would not permit him to 
be happy in his own way, but endeavored to set him at va- 
riance with his wife. Lauckie refused to credit any of their 
stories to her disadvantage; but the incessant warfare he 
had to wage in defence of her good name, wore out both flesh 
and spirit. His last conflict was with his own brothers, in 
front of his paternal mansion. A furious scolding-match took 
place between them ; Lauckie made a vehement profession 
of faith in favor of her immaculate honesty and then fell 
dead at the threshold of his own door. His person, his 
character, his name, his story, and his fate, entitled him to be 
immortalized in one of Scott's novels, and I looked to recog- 
nize him in some of the succeeding works from his pen, but 
I looked in vain. 

105. After passing by the domains of honest Lauckie, Scott 
pointed out, at a distance, the Eildon stone. There in ancient 
days stood the Eildon tree, beneath which Thomas the Rhy- 
mer, according to popular tradition, dealt forth his prophecies, 
some of which still exist in antiquated ballads. 

106. Here we turned up a little glen with a small burn or 
brook whimpering and dashing along it, making an occasional 
waterfall, and overhung in some places with mountain-ash 



ABBOTSFORD 231 

and weeping-birch. We are now, said Scott, treading classic, 
or rather fairy ground. This is the haunted glen of Thomas 
the Rhymer, where he met with the queen of fairy land ; and 
this the bogle burn, or goblin brook, along which she rode on 
her dapple-gray palfrey, with silver bells ringing at the bridle. 

107. ''Here, "said he, pausing, ''is Huntley Bank, on 
which Thomas the Rhymer lay musing and sleeping when he 
saw, or dreamt he saw, the queen of Elfland : — 

" True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank ; 
A ferlie he spied wi' his e'e; 
And there he saw a ladye bright, 

Come riding down by the Eildon tree. 

"Her skirt was o' the grass green silk, 
Her mantle o' the velvet fyne; 
At ilka tett of lier horse's mane 
Hung fifty siller bells and nine." 

Here Scott repeated several of the stanzas and recounted the 
circumstance of Thomas the Rhymer's interview with the 
fairy, and his being transported by her to fairy land — 

"And til seven years were gone and past, 
True Thomas on earth was never seen. ' ' 

It is a fine old story, said he, and might be wrought up into 
a capital tale. 

108. Scott continued on, leading the way as usual, and 
limping up the wizard glen, talking as he went, but as his back 
was toward me, I could only hear the deep growling tones of 
his voice, like the low breathing of an organ, without dis- 
tinguishing the words, until pausing, and turning his face 
towards me, I found he was reciting some scrap of border 
minstrelsy about Thomas the Rhymer. This was continually 
the case in my ramblings with him about this storied neigh- 
borhood. His mind was fraught with the traditionary fictions 
connected with every object around him, and he would breathe 
it forth as he went, apparently as much for his own gratifica- 
tion as for that of his companion. 

"Nor hill, nor brook, we paced along, 
But had its legend or its song. " 



232 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

His voice was deep and sonorous, he spoke with a Scottish 
accent, and with somewhat of the Northumbrian "burr," 
which, to my mind, gave a doric strength and simphcity to his 
elocution. His recitation of poetry was, at times, magnifi- 
cent. 

109. I think it was in the course of this ramble that my 
friend Hamlet, the black greyhound, got into a sad scrape. 
The dogs were beating about the glens and fields as usual, 
and had been for some time out of sight, when we heard a 
barking at some distance to the left. Shortly after we saw 
some sheep scampering on the hills, with the dogs after them. 
Scott applied to his lips the ivory whistle, always hanging at 
his button-hole, and soon called in the culprits, excepting 
Hamlet. Hastening up a bank which commanded a view 
along a fold or hollow of the hills, we beheld the sable prince 
of Denmark standing by the bleeding body of a sheep. The 
carcass was still warm, the throat bore marks of the fatal 
grip, and Hamlet's muzzle was stained with blood. Never 
was culprit more completely caught in -flagrante delidu. I 
supposed the doom of poor Hamlet to be sealed, for no higher 
offence can be committed by a dog in a country abounding 
with sheep-walks. Scott, however, had a greater value for 
his dogs than for his sheep. They were his companions and 
friends. Hamlet, too, though an irregular, impertinent kind 
of youngster, was evidently a favorite. He would not for 
some time believe it could be he who had killed the sheep. It 
must have been some cur of the neighborhood, that had made 
off on our approach, and left poor Hamlet in the lurch. 
Proofs, however, were too strong, and Hamlet was generally 
condemned. "Well, well," said Scott, "it's partly my own 
fault. I have given up coursing for some time past, and the 
poor dog has had no chance after game to take the fire edge 
off of him. If he was put after a hare occasionally, he never 
would meddle with sheep." 

110. I understood, afterwards, that Scott actually got 
a pony, and went out now and then coursing with Hamlet, 
who, in consequence, showed no further inclination for 
mutton. 



ABBOTSFORD 233 

111. A further stroll among the hills brought us to what 
Scott pronounced the remains of a Roman camp, and as we sat 
upon a hillock which had once formed a part of the ramparts, 
he pointed out the traces of the lines and bulwarks, and the 
prsetorium, and showed a knowledge of castrametation that 
would not have disgraced the antiquarian Oldbuck himself. 
Indeed, various circumstances that I observed about Scott 
during my visit, concurred to persuade me that many of the 
antiquarian humors of Monkbarns were taken from his own 
richly compounded character, and that some of the scenes and 
personages of that admirable novel were furnished by his 
immediate neighborhood. 

112. He gave me several anecdotes of a noted pauper 
named Andrew Gemmells, or Gammel, as it was pronounced, 
who had once flourished on the banks of Galla Water, im- 
mediately opposite Abbotsford, and whom he had seen and 
talked and joked with when a boy; and I instantly recog- 
nized the likeness of that mirror of philosophic vagabonds 
and Nestor of beggars, Edie Ochiltree. I was on the point 
of pronouncing the name and recognizing the portrait, 
when I recollected the incognito observed by Scott with 
respect to his novels, and checked myself; but it was one 
among many things that tended to convince me of his 
authorship. 

113. His picture of Andrew Gemmells exactly accorded with 
that of Edie as to his height, carriage, and soldier-like air, 
as well as his arch and sarcastic humor. His home, if home 
he had, was at Gallashiels; but he went "daundering" about 
the country, along the green shaws and beside the burns, and 
was a kind of walking chronicle throughout the valleys of the 
Tweed, the Ettrick, and the Yarrow; carrying the gossip 
from house to house, commenting on the inhabitants and 
their concerns, and never hesitating to give them a dry rub 
as to any of their faults or follies. 

114. A shrewd beggar like Andrew Gemmells, Scott added, 
who could sing the old Scotch airs, tell stories and tradi- 
tions, and gossip away the long winter evenings, was by no 
means an unwelcome visitor at a lonely manse or cottage. 



234 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

The children would run to welcome him, and place his stool 
in a warm corner of the ingle nook, and the old folks would 
receive him as a privileged guest. 

115. As to Andrew, he looked upon them all as a parson 
does upon his parishioners, and considered the alms he re- 
ceived as much his due as the other does his tithes. I rather 
think, added Scott, Andrew considered himself more of a 
gentleman than those who toiled for a living, and that he 
secretly looked down upon the painstaking peasants that fed 
and sheltered him. 

116. He had derived his aristocratical notions in some 
degree from being admitted occasionally to a precarious 
sociability with some of the small country gentry, who were 
sometimes in want of company to help while away the time. 
With these Andrew would now and then play at cards and 
dice, and he never lacked " siller in pouch " to stake on a game, 
which he did with the perfect air of a man to whom money 
was a matter of little moment; and no one could lose his 
money with more gentlemanlike coolness. 

117. Among those who occasionally admitted him to this 
familiarity, was old John Scott of Galla, a man of family, 
who inhabited his paternal mansion of Torwoodlee. Some 
distinction of rank, however, was still kept up. The laird 
sat on the inside of the window and the beggar on the outside, 
and they played cards on the sill. 

118. Andrew now and then told the laird a piece of his 
mind very freely; especially on one occasion, when he had 
sold some of his paternal lands to build himself a larger house 
with the proceeds. The speech of honest Andrew smacks of 
the shrewdness of Edie Ochiltree. 

119. "It's a' varra weel — it's a' varra weel, Torwood- 
lee," said he ; "but who would ha' thought that your father's 
son would ha' sold two gude estates to build a shaw's 
(cuckoo's) nest on the side of a hill?" 

120. That day there was an arrival at Abbotsford of two 
English tourists: one a gentleman of fortune and landed 
estate, the other a young clergyman whom he appeared to 



ABBOTSFORD 235 

have under his patronage, and to have brought with him 
as a traveUing companion. 

121. The patron was one of those well-bred, common- 
place gentlemen with which England is overrun. He had 
great deference for Scott, and endeavored to acquit himself 
learnedly in his company, aiming continually at abstract dis- 
quisitions, for which Scott had little relish. The conversa- 
tion of the latter, as usual, was studded with anecdotes and 
stories, some of them of great pith and humor : the well-bred 
gentleman was either too dull to feel their point, or too de- 
corous to indulge in hearty merriment ; the honest parson, on 
the contrary, who was not too refined to be happy, laughed 
loud and long at every joke, and enjoyed them with the zest 
of a man who has more merriment in his heart than coin in 
his pocket. 

122. After they were gone, some comments were made 
upon their different deportments. Scott spoke very respect- 
fully of the good breeding and measured manners of the man 
of wealth, but with a kindlier feeling of the honest parson, and 
the homely but hearty enjoyment with which he relished every 
pleasantry. "I doubt," said he, "whether the parson's lot 
in life is not the best ; if he cannot command as many of the 
good things of this world by his own purse as his patron can, 
he beats him all hollow in his enjoyment of them when set 
before him by others. Upon the whole," added he, "I rather 
think I prefer the honest parson's good humor to his patron's 
good breeding; I have a great regard for a hearty laughter. " 

123. He went on to speak of the great influx of English 
travellers, which of late years had inundated Scotland; and 
doubted whether they had not injured the old-fashioned 
Scottish character. "Formerly, they came here occasionally 
as sportsmen," said he, "to shoot moor-game, without any 
idea of looking at scenery ; and they moved about the country 
in hardy simple style, coping with the country people in their 
own way; but now they come rolling about in their equi- 
pages, to see ruins, and spend money; and their lavish ex- 
travagance has played the vengeance with the common people. 
It has made them rapacious in their dealings with strangers, 



236 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

greedy after money, and extortionate in their demands for 
the most trivial services. Formerly/' continued he, "the 
poorer classes of our people were comparatively disinterested ; 
they offered their services gratuitously, in promoting the 
amusement, or aiding the curiosity of strangers, and were 
gratified by the smallest compensation ; but now they make 
a trade of showing rocks and ruins, and are as greedy as 
Italian cicerones. They look upon the English as so many 
walking money-bags; the more they are shaken and poked, 
the more they will leave behind them." 

124. I told him that he had a great deal to answer for on 
that head, since it was the romantic associations he had 
thrown by his writings over so many out-of-the-way places in 
Scotland, that had brought in the influx of curious travellers. 

125. Scott laughed, and said he believed I might be in 
some measure in the right, as he recollected a circumstance in 
point. Being one time at Glenross, an old woman who kept 
a small inn, which had but little custom, was uncommonly 
officious in her attendance upon him, and absolutely incom- 
moded him with her civilities. The secret at length came out. 
As he was about to depart, she addressed him with many 
curtsies, and said she understood he was the gentleman that 
had written a bonnie book about Loch Katrine. She begged 
him to write a little about their lake also, for she understood 
his book had done the inn at Loch Katrine a muckle deal of 
good. 

126. On the following day I made an excursion with Scott 
and the young ladies to Dryburgh Abbey. We went in an 
open carriage, drawn by two sleek old black horses, for which 
Scott seemed to have an affection, as he had for every dumb 
animal that belonged to him. Our road lay through a variety 
of scenes, rich in poetical and historical associations, about 
most of which Scott had something to relate. In one part of 
the drive he pointed to an old border keep, or fortress, on the 
summit of a naked hill, several miles off, which he called 
Smallholm Tower, and the rocky knoll on which it stood, the 
''Sandy Knowe crags.'' It was a place, he said, peculiarly 
dear to him, from the recollections of childhood. His grand- 



ABBOTSFORD 237 

father had hved there in the old Smallholm Grange, or farm- 
house ; and he had been sent there, when but two years old, on 
account of his lameness, that he might have the benefit of the 
pure air of the hills, and be under the care of his grandmother 
and aunts. 

127. In the introduction of one of the cantos of "Mar- 
mion," he has depicted his grandfather, and the fireside of the 
farm-house; and has given an amusing picture of himself 
in his boyish years. 



"Still with vain fondness could I trace 
Anew each kind familiar face, 
That brightened at our evening fire ; 
From the thatched mansion's gray-haired sire, 
Wise without learning, plain and good. 
And sprung of Scotland's gentler blood; 
Whose eye in age, quick, clear and keen. 
Showed what in youth its glance had been ; 
Whose doom discording neighbors sought, 
Content with equity unbought ; 
To him the venerable priest. 
Our frequent and familiar guest. 
Whose life and manners well could paint 
Alike the student and the saint ; 
Alas ! whose speech too oft I broke 
With gambol rude and timeless joke ; 
For I was wayward, bold, and wild, 
A self-willed imp, a grandame's child; 
But half a plague, and half a jest, 
Was still endured, beloved, carest." 



128. It was, he said, during his residence at Smallholm 
crags, that he first imbibed his passion for legendary tales, 
border traditions, and old national songs and ballads. His 
grandmother and aunts were well versed in that kind of lore 
so current in Scottish country life. They used to recount 
them in long, gloomy winter days, and about the ingle nook 
at night, in conclave with their gossip visitors; and little 
Walter would sit and listen with greedy ear; thus taking 
into his infant mind the seeds of many a splendid fiction. 

129. There was an old shepherd, he said, in the service 
of the family, who used to sit under the sunny wall, and tell 
marvellous stories, and recite old-time ballads, as he knitted 



238 



THE SKETCH-BOOK 



stockings. Scott used to be wheeled out in his chair, in fine 
weather, and would sit beside the old man, and listen to him 
for hours. 

130. The situation of Sandy Knowe was favorable both 
for story-teller and listener. It commanded a wide view over 
all the border country, with its feudal towers, its haunted 
glens, and wizard streams. As the old shepherd told his tales, 




Dryburgh Abbey 



he could point out the very scene of action. Thus, before 
Scott could walk, he was made familiar with the scenes of his 
future stories ; they were all seen as through a magic medium, 
and took that tinge of romance which they ever after re- 
tained in his imagination. From the height of Sandy Knowe 
he may be said to have had the first look-out upon the prom- 
ised land of his future glory. 

131. On referring to Scott's works, I find many of the cir- 
cumstances related in this conversation about the old tower, 
and the boyish scenes connected with it, recorded in the intro- 
duction to "Marmion," already cited. This was frequently 
the case with Scott ; incidents and feelings that had appeared 
in his writings, were apt to be mingled up in his conversation. 



ABBOTSFORD 239 

for they had been taken from what he had witnessed and felt 
in real hfe, and were connected with those scenes among 
which he Uved, and moved, and had his being. I make no 
scruple at quoting the passage relative to the tower, though 
it repeats much of the foregone imagery, and with vastly 
superior effect. 

"Thus, while I ape the measure wild 
Of tales that charmed me yet a child, 
Rude though they be, still with the chime 
Return the thoughts of early time ; 
And feelings roused in life's first day, 
Glow in the line, and prompt the lay. 
Then rise those crags, that mountain tower, 
"Which charmed my fancy's wakening hour, 
Though no broad river swept along 
To claim perchance heroic song ; 
Though sighed no groves in summer gale 
To prompt of love a softer tale ; 
Though scarce a puny streamlet's speed 
Claimed homage from a shepherd's reed; 
Yet was poetic impulse given. 
By the green hill and clear blue heaven. 
It was a barren scene, and wild. 
Where naked cliffs were rudely piled ; 
But ever and anon between 
Lay velvet tufts of loveliest green ; 
And well the lonely infant knew 
Recesses where the wall-flower grew, 
And honeysuckle loved to crawl 
Up the low crag and ruined wall. 
I deemed such nooks the sweetest shade 
The sun in all his round surveyed ; 
And still I thought that shattered tower 
The mightiest work of htunan power ; 
And marvelled as the aged hind 
With some strange tale bewitched my mind 
Of forayers, who, with headlong force, 
Down from that strength had spurred their horse 
Their southern rapine to renew, 
Far in the distant Cheviot's blue, 
And, home returning, filled the hall 
With revel, wassail-rout, and brawl — 
Methought that still with tramp and clang 
The gateway's broken arches rang; 
Methought grim features, seamed with scars 
Glared through the window's rusty bars. 
And ever by the winter hearth. 
Old tales I heard of woe or mirth. 
Of lovers' slights, of ladies' charms, 
Of witches' spells, of warriors' arms; 



240 THE SKETCH-BOOK 



Of patriot battles won of old 

By Wallace wight and Bruce the bold ; 

Of later fields of feud and fight, 

When pouring from the Highland height, 

The Scottish clans, in headlong sway. 

Had swept the scarlet ranks away. 

While stretched at length upon the floor, 

Again I fought each combat o'er, 

Pebbles and shells, in order laid, 

The mimic ranks of war displayed ; 

And onward still the Scottish Lion bore. 

And still the scattered Southron fled before." 



132. Scott eyed the distant height of Sandy Knowe with 
an earnest gaze as we rode along, and said he had often 
thought of buying the place, repairing the old tower, and 
making it his residence. He has in some measure, however, 
paid off his early debt of gratitude, in clothing it with poetic 
and romantic associations, by his tale of "The Eve of St. 
John." It is to be hoped that those who actually possess 
so interesting a monument of Scott's early days, will preserve 
it from further dilapidation. 

133. Not far from Sandy Knowe, Scott pointed out another 
old border hold, standing on the summit of a hill, which had 
been a kind of enchanted castle to him in his boyhood. It 
was the tower of Bemerside, the baronial residence of the 
Haigs or De Hagas, one of the oldest families of the border. 
"There had seemed to him," he said, "almost a wizard 
spell hanging over it, in consequence of a prophecy of Thomas 
the Rhymer, in which, in his young days, he most potently 
believed : " 

" Betide, betide, whate'er betide, 
Haig shall be Haig of Bemerside." 

134. Scott added some particulars which showed that, in 
the present instance, the venerable Thomas had not proved 
a false prophet, for it was a noted fact, that, amid all the 
changes and chances of the border — through all the feuds, 
and forays, and sackings, and burnings, which had reduced 
most of the castles to ruins, and the proud families that once 
possessed them to poverty, the tower of Bemerside still 



ABBOTSFORD 241 

remained unscathed, and was still the strong-hold of the 
ancient family of Haig. 

135. Prophecies, however, often insure their own fulfil- 
ment. It is very probable that the prediction of Thomas the 
Rhymer has linked the Haigs to their tower, as their rock 
of safety, and has induced them to cling to it, almost super- 
stitiously, through hardships and inconveniences that would 
otherwise have caused its abandonment. 

136. I afterwards saw, at Dryburgh Abbey, the burying- 
place of this predestinated and tenacious family, the inscription 
of which showed the value they set upon their antiquity: — 

"Locu Sepulturse, 
Antiquessimse Familise 
De Haga 
De Bemerside." 

137. In reverting to the days of his childhood, Scott ob- 
served that the lameness which had disabled him in infancy 
gradually decreased ; he soon acquired strength in his limbs, 
and though he always limped, he became, even in boyhood, 
a great walker. He used frequently to stroll from home and 
wander about the country for days together, picking up 
all kinds of local gossip, and observing popular scenes and 
characters. His father used to be vexed with him for this 
wandering propensity, and, shaking his head, would say he 
fancied the boy would make nothing but a peddler. As he 
grew older, he became a keen sportsman, and passed much 
of his time hunting and shooting. His field-sports led him 
into the most wild and unfrequented parts of the country, and 
in this way he picked up much of that local knowledge which 
he has since evinced in his writings. 

138. His first visit to Loch Katrine, he said, was in his boy- 
ish days, on a shooting excursion. The island, which he has 
made the romantic residence of the Lady of the Lake, was then 
garrisoned by an old man and his wife. Their house was 
vacant : they had put the key under the door, and were absent 
fishing. It was at that time a peaceful residence, but became 
afterwards a resort of smugglers, until they were ferreted out. 



242 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

139. In after-years, when Scott began to turn this local 
knowledge to literary account, he revisited many of those 
scenes of his early ramblings, and endeavored to secure the 
fugitive remains of the traditions and songs that had charmed 
his boyhood. When collecting materials for his " Border Min- 
strelsy," he used, he said, to go from cottage to cottage, and 
make the old wives repeat all they knew, if but two lines ; and 
by putting these scraps together, he retrieved many a fine 
characteristic old ballad or tradition from oblivion. 

140. I regret to say that I can recollect scarce anything of 
our visit to Dryburgh Abbey. It is on the estate of the Earl 
of Buchan. The religious edifice is a mere ruin, rich in Gothic 
antiquities, but especially interesting to Scott, from containing 
the family vault, and the tombs and monuments of his ances- 
tors. He appeared to feel much chagrin at their being in the 
possession, and subject to the intermeddlings of the Earl, 
who was represented as a nobleman of an eccentric character. 
The latter, however, set great value on these sepulchral relics, 
and had expressed a lively anticipation of one day or other 
having the honor of burying Scott, and adding his monu- 
ment to the collection, which he intended should be worthy 
of the "mighty minstrel of the north " — a prospective com- 
pliment which was by no means relished by the object of it. 

141. One of my pleasant rambles with Scott, about the 
neighborhood of Abbotsford, was taken in company with Mr. 
William Laidlaw, the steward of his estate. This was a 
gentleman for whom Scott entertained a particular value. 
He had been born to a competency, had been well educated, 
his mind was richly stored with varied information, and he 
was a man of sterling moral worth. Having been reduced by 
misfortune, Scott had got him to take charge of his estate. 
He lived at a small farm on the hill-side above Abbotsford, 
and was treated by Scott as a cherished and confidential 
friend, rather than a dependant. 

142. As the day was showery, Scott was attended by one 
of his retainers, named Tommie Purdie, who carried his plaid, 
and who deserves especial mention. Sophia Scott used to call 



ABBOTSFORD 243 

him her father's grand vizier, and she gave a playful account 
one evening, as she was hanging on her father's arm, of the 
consultations which he and Tommie used to have about 
matters relative to farming. Purdie was tenacious of his 
opinions, and he and Scott would have long disputes in front 
of the house, as to something that was to be done on the 
estate, until the latter, fairly tired out, would abandon the 
ground and the argument, exclaiming, "Well, well, Tom, 
have it your own way." 

143. After a time, however, Purdie would present himself 
at the door of the parlor, and observe, "I ha' been thinking 
over the matter, and, upon the whole, I think I'll take your 
honor's advice." 

144. Scott laughed heartily when this anecdote was told 
of him. " It was with him and Tom," he said, " as it was with 
an old laird and a pet servant, whom he had indulged until he 
was positive beyond all endurance. 'This won't do!' cried 
the old laird, in a passion, 'we can't live together any longer — 
we must part.' 'An' where the deil does your honor mean to 
go?' replied the other." 

145. I would, moreover, observe of Tom Purdie, that he 
was a firm believer in ghosts, and warlocks, and all kinds of old 
wives' fable. He was a religious man, too, mingling a little 
degree of Scottish pride in his devotion ; for though his salary 
was but twenty pounds a year, he had managed to afford seven 
pounds for a family Bible. It is true, he had one hundred 
pounds clear of the world, and was looked up to by his com- 
rades as a man of property. 

146. In the course of our morning's walk we stopped at 
a small house belonging to one of the laborers on the estate. 
The object of Scott's visit was to inspect a relic which had been 
digged up in the Roman camp, and which, if I recollect right, 
he pronounced to have been a tongs. It was produced by 
the cottager's wife, a ruddy, healthy-looking dame, whom 
Scott addressed by the name of Ailie. As he stood regarding 
the relic, turning it round and round, and making comments 
upon it, half grave, half comic, with the cottage group around 
him, all joining occasionally in the colloquy, the inimitable 



244 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

character of Monkbarns was again brought to mind, and I 
seemed to see before me that prince of antiquarians and 
humorists holding forth to his unlearned and unbelieving 
neighbors. 

147. Whenever Scott touched, in this way, upon local 
antiquities, and in all his familiar conversations about local 
traditions and superstitions, there was always a sly and quiet 
humor running at the bottom of his discourse, and playing 
about his countenance, as if he sported with the subject. It 
seemed to me as if he distrusted his own enthusiasm, and was 
disposed to droll upon his own humors and peculiarities, yet, 
at the same time, a poetic gleam in his eye would show that 
he really took a strong relish and interest in them. "It 
was a pity," he said, "that antiquarians were generally so dry, 
for the subjects they handled were rich in historical and poetic 
recollections, in picturesque details, in quaint and heroic char- 
acteristics, and in all kinds of curious and obsolete cere- 
monials. They are always groping among the rarest ma- 
terials for poetry, but they have no idea of turning them to 
poetic use. Now every fragment from old times has, in some 
degree, its story with it, or gives an inkling of something char- 
acteristic of the circumstances and manners of its day, and so 
sets the imagination at work." 

148. For my own part, I never met with antiquarian so 
delightful, either in his writings or his conversation ; and the 
quiet subacid humor that was prone to mingle in his disqui- 
sitions, gave them, to me, a peculiar and exquisite flavor. 
But he seemed, in fact, to undervalue everything that con- 
cerned himself. The play of his genius was so easy that he 
was unconscious of its mighty power, and made light of those 
sports of intellect that shamed the efforts and labors of other 
minds. 

149. Our ramble this morning took us again up the Rhy- 
mer's Glen, and by Huntley Bank, and Huntley Wood, and 
the silver waterfall overhung with weeping-birches and 
mountain-ashes, those delicate and beautiful trees which grace 
the green shaws and burnsides of Scotland. The heather, too, 
that closely-woven robe of Scottish landscape which covers 



ABBOTSFOED 245 

the nakedness of its hills and mountains, tinted the neighbor- 
hood with soft and rich colors. As we ascended the glen, the 
prospects opened upon us ; Melrose, with its towers and pin- 
nacles, lay below ; beyond was the Eildon hills, the Cowden 
Knowes, the Tweed, the Galla Water, and all the storied 
vicinity; the whole landscape varied by gleams of sunshine 
and driving showers. 

150. Scott, as usual, took the lead, limping along with great 
activity, and in joyous mood, giving scraps of border rhymes 
and border stories; two or three times in the course of our 
walk there were drizzling showers, which I supposed would 
put an end to our ramble, but my companions trudged on as 
unconcernedly as if it had been fine weather. 

151. At length, I asked whether we had not better seek 
some shelter. "True," said Scott, "I did not recollect that 
you were not accustomed to our Scottish mists. This is a 
lachrymose climate, evermore showering. We, however, are 
children of the mist, and must not mind a little whimpering 
of the clouds any more than a man must mind the weeping 
of an hysterical wife. As you are not accustomed to be wet 
through, as a matter of course, in a morning's walk, we will 
bide a bit under the lee of this bank until the shower is over." 
Taking his seat under shelter of a thicket, he called to his man 
George for his tartan; then turning to me, "Come," said he, 
" come under my plaidy, as the old song goes ; " so, making me 
nestle down beside him, he wrapped a part of the plaid round 
me, and took me, as he said, under his wing. 

152. While we were thus nestled together, he pointed to a 
hole in the opposite bank of the glen. That, he said, was the 
hole of an old gray badger, who was, doubtless, snugly housed 
in this bad weather. Sometimes he saw him at the entrance of 
his hole, like a hermit at the door of his cell, telling his beads, 
or reading a homily. He had a great respect for the vener- 
able anchorite, and would not suffer him to be disturbed. 
He was a kind of successor to Thomas the Rhymer, and per- 
haps might be Thomas himself returned from fairy land, but 
still under fairy spell. 

153. Some accident turned the conversation upon Hogg, 



246 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

the poet, in which Laidlaw, who was seated beside us, took a 
part. Hogg had once been a shepherd in the service of his 
father, and Laidlaw gave many interesting anecdotes of him, 
of which I now retain no recollection. They used to tend the 
sheep together when Laidlaw was a boy, and Hogg would re- 
cite the first struggling conceptions of his muse. At night, 
when Laidlaw was quartered comfortably in bed, in the farm- 
house, poor Hogg would take to the shepherd's hut, in the 
field on the hill-side, and there lie awake for hours together, 
and look at the stars and make poetry, which he would repeat 
the next day to his companion. 

154. Scott spoke in warm terms of Hogg, and repeated 
passages from his beautiful poem of 'Kelmeny, to which he 
gave great and well-merited praise. He gave, also, some 
amusing anecdotes of Hogg and his publisher, Blackwood, 
who was at that time just rising into the bibliographical 
importance which he has since enjoyed. 

155. Hogg, in one of his poems, I believe the "Pilgrims of 
the Sun," had dabbled a little in metaphysics, and, like his 
heroes, had got into the clouds. Blackwood, who began to 
affect criticism, argued stoutly with him as to the necessity 
of omitting or elucidating some obscure passage. Hogg was 
immovable. 

156. "But, man," said Blackwood, "I dinna ken what 
ye mean in this passage." — " Hout tout, man," replied Hogg, 
impatiently, "I dinna ken always what I mean mysel'." 
There is many a metaphysical poet in the same predicament 
with honest Hogg. 

157. Scott promised to invite the Shepherd to Abbotsford 
during my visit, and I anticipated much gratification in meet- 
ing with him, from the account I had received of his character 
and manners, and the great pleasure I had derived from his 
works. Circumstances, however, prevented Scott from per- 
forming his promise; and to my great regret I left Scotland 
without seeing one of its most original and national char- 
acters. 

158. When the weather held up, we continued our walk 
until we came to a beautiful sheet of water, in the bosom of the 



ABBOTSFORD 247 

mountain, called, if I recollect right, the Lake of Cauldshiel. 
Scott prided himself much upon this little Mediterranean sea in 
his dominions, and hoped I was not too much spoiled by our 
great lakes in America to relish it. He proposed to take me out 
to the centre of it, to a fine point of view : for which purpose 
we embarked in a small boat, which had been put on the lake 
by his neighbor. Lord Somerville. As I was about to step 
on board, I observed in large letters on one of the benches, 
"Search No. 2.'' I paused for a moment and repeated the 
inscription aloud, trying to recollect something I had heard 
or read to which it alluded. "Pshaw," cried Scott, "it is 
only some of Lord Somerville 's nonsense ; — get in ! " In an 
instant, scenes in the "Antiquary" connected with "Search 
No. 1," flashed upon my mind. "Ah! I remember now," 
said I, and with a laugh took my seat, but adverted no more 
to the circumstance. 

159. We had a pleasant row about the lake, which com- 
manded some pretty scenery. The most interesting circum- 
stance connected with it, however, 'according to Scott, was, 
that it was haunted by a bogle in the shape of a water-bull, 
which lived in the deep parts, and now and then came forth 
upon dry land and made a tremedous roaring, that shook the 
very hills. This story had been current in the vicinity from 
time immemorial ; — there was a man living who declared 
he had seen the bull, — and he was believed by many of his 
simple neighbors. "I don't choose to contradict the tale," 
said Scott, "for I am willing to have my lake stocked with any 
fish, flesh, or fowl that my neighbors think proper to put into 
it ; and these old wives' fables are a kind of property in Scot- 
land that belong to the estates and go with the soil. Our 
streams and lochs are like the rivers and pools in Germany, 
that have all their Wasser-Nixen, or water-witches, and I have 
a fancy for this kind of amphibious bogles and hobgoblins." 

160. Scott went on, after we had landed, to make many 
remarks, mingled with picturesque anecdotes concerning the 
fabulous beings with which the Scotch were apt to people the 
wild streams and lochs that occur in the solemn and lonely 



248 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

scenes of their mountains ; and to compare them with similar 
superstitions among the northern nations of Europe; but 
Scotland, he said, was above all other countries for this wild 
and vivid progeny of the fancy, from the nature of the scenery, 
the misty magnificence and vagueness of the climate, the wild 
and gloomy events of its history ; the clannish divisions of its 
people; their local feelings, notions, and prejudices; the 
individuality of their dialect, in which all kinds of odd and 
peculiar notions were incorporated ; by the secluded life of 
their mountaineers ; the lonely habits of their pastoral people, 
much of whose time was passed on the solitary hill-sides; 
their traditional songs, which clothed every rock and stream 
with old-world stories, handed down from age to age, 
and generation to generation. The Scottish mind, he said, 
was made up of poetry and strong common sense; and the 
very strength of the latter gave perpetuity and luxuriance 
to the former. It was a strong tenacious soil, into which, 
when once a seed of poetry fell, it struck deep root and brought 
forth abundantly. '* You will never weed these popular stories 
and songs and superstitions out of Scotland," said he. "It 
is not so much that the people believe in them, as that they 
delight in them. They belong to the native hills and streams 
of which they are fond, and to the history of their fore- 
fathers, of which they are proud." 

161. "It would do your heart good," continued he, "to see 
a number of our poor country people seated round the ingle 
nook, which is generally capacious enough, and passing the 
long dark dreary winter nights listening to some old 
wife, or strolling gaberlunzie, dealing out auld-world stories 
about bogles and warlocks, or about raids and forays, and 
border skirmishes ; or reciting some ballad stuck full of those 
fighting names that stir up a true Scotchman's blood like 
the sound of a trumpet. These traditional tales and ballads 
have lived for ages in mere oral circulation, being passed from 
father to son, or rather from grandam to grandchild, and are 
a kind of hereditary property of the poor peasantry, of which 
it would be hard to deprive them, as they have not circulating 
libraries to supply them with works of fiction in their place." 



ABBOTSFORD 



•249 



162. I do not pretend to give the precise words, but, as 
nearly as I can from scanty memorandums and vague recol- 




The Library at Abbotsford 



lections, the leading ideas of Scott. I am constantly sen- 
sible, however, how far I fall short of his copiousness and 
richness. 

163. He went on to speak of the elves and sprites, so 
frequent in Scottish legend. "Our fairies, however," said 
he, "though they dress in green, and gambol by moonlight 
about the banks, and shaws, and burnsides, are not such 
pleasant little folk as the English fairies, but are apt to bear 
more of the warlock in their natures, and to play spiteful 
tricks. When I was a boy, I used to look wistfully at the 
green hillocks that were said to be haunted by fairies, and 
felt sometimes as if I should like to lie down by them and 
sleep, and be carried off to Fairy Land, only that I did not 
like some of the cantrips which used now and then to be 
played off upon visitors." 



250 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

164. Here Scott recounted, in graphic style, and with much 
humor, a little story which used to be current in the neighbor- 
hood, of an honest burgess of Selkirk, who, being at work upon 
the hill of Peatlaw, fell asleep upon one of these "fairy 
knowes," or hillocks. When he awoke, he rubbed his eyes 
and gazed about him with astonishment, for he was in the 
market-place of a great city, with a crowd of people bustling 
about him, not one of whom he knew. At length he accosted 
a bystander, and asked him the name of the place. "Hout, 
man," replied the other, "are ye in the heart o' Glasgow, and 
speer the name of it?" The poor man was astonished, and 
would not believe either ears or eyes ; he insisted that he had 
laid down to sleep but half an hour before on the Peatlaw, 
near Selkirk. He came wellnigh being taken up for a mad- 
man, when, fortunately, a Selkirk man came by, who knew 
him, and took charge of him, and conducted him back to 
his native place. Here, however, he was likely to fare no 
better, when he spoke of having been whisked in his sleep 
from the Peatlaw to Glasgow. The truth of the matter at 
length came out : his coat, which he had taken off when at 
work on the Peatlaw, was found lying near a "fairy knowe " ; 
and his bonnet, which was missing, was discovered on the 
weathercock of Lanark steeple. So it was as clear as day 
that he had been carried through the air by the fairies 
while he was sleeping, and his bonnet had been blown off 
by the way. 

165. I give this little story but meagrely from a scanty 
memorandum ; Scott has related it in somewhat different 
style in a note to one of his poems ; but in narration these 
anecdotes derived their chief zest, from the quiet but delight- 
ful humor, the honhommie with which he seasoned them, and 
the sly glance of the eye from under his bushy eyebrows, with 
which they were accompanied. 

166. That day at dinner we had Mr. Laidlaw and his wife, 
and a female friend who accompanied them. The latter was a 
very intelligent, respectable person, about the middle age, and 
was treated with particular attention and courtesy by Scott. 



ABBOTSFORD 251 

Our dinner was a most agreeable one ; for the guests were evi- 
dently cherished visitors to the house, and felt that they were 
appreciated. 

167. When they were gone, Scott spoke of them in the most 
cordial manner. " I wished to show you," said he, " some of our 
really excellent, plain Scotch people ; not fine gentlemen and 
ladies, for such you can meet everywhere, and they are every- 
where the same. The character of a nation is not to be learnt 
from its fine folks.'' 

168. He then went on with a particular elogium on the lady 
who had accompanied the Laidlaws. She was the daughter, 
he said, of a poor country clergyman, who had died in debt 
and left her an orphan and destitute. Having had a good 
plain education, she immediately set up a child's school, and 
had soon a numerous flock under her care, by which she earned 
a decent maintenance. That, however, was not her main 
object. Her first care was to pay off her father's debts, that 
no ill word or ill will might rest upon his memory. This, by 
dint of Scottish economy, backed by filial reverence and pride, 
she accomphshed, though in the effort she subjected herself 
to every privation. Not content with this, she in certain 
instances refused to take pay for the tuition of the children 
of some of her neighbors, who had befriended her father in his 
need, and had since fallen into poverty. "In a word," 
added Scott, "she is a fine old Scotch girl ; and I delight in her, 
more than in many a fine lady I have known, — and I have 
known many of the finest." 

169. It is time, however, to draw this rambling narrative 
to a close. Several days were passed by me, in the way I have 
attempted to describe, in almost constant, familiar, and 
joyous conversation with Scott; it was as if I were admitted 
to a social communion with Shakspeare, for it was with one of 
a kindred, if not equal genius. Every night I retired with my 
mind filled with delightful recollections of the day, and every 
morning I rose with the certainty of new enjoyment. The 
days thus spent I shall ever look back to as among the very 
happiest of my life, for I was conscious at the time of being 
happy. 



252 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

170. The only sad moment that I experienced at Abbots- 
ford was that of my departure ; but it was cheered with the 
prospect of soon returning ; for I had promised, after making 
a tour in the Highlands, to come and pass a few more days on 
the banks of the Tweed, when Scott intended to invite Hogg 
the poet to meet me. I took a kind farewell of the family, 
with each of whom I had been highly pleased ; if I have re- 
frained from dwelling particularly on their several characters, 
and giving anecdotes of them individually, it is because I 
consider them shielded by the sanctity of domestic life : 
Scott, on the contrary, belongs to history. As he accom- 
panied me on foot, however, to a small gate on the confines of 
his premises, I could not refrain from expressing the enjoy- 
ment I had experienced in his domestic circle, and passing 
some warm eulogiums on the young folks from whom I had 
just parted. I shall never forget his reply. "They have kind 
hearts," said he, "and that is the main point as to human 
happiness. They love one another, poor things, which is 
everything in domestic life. The best wish I can make you, 
my friend," added he, laying his hand upon my shoulder, "is, 
that when you return to your own country you may get mar- 
ried, and have a family of young bairns about you. If you 
are happy, there they are to share your happiness — and if 
you are otherwise — there they are to comfort you." 

171. By this time we had reached the gate, when he halted, 
and took my hand. "I will not say farewell," said he, "for 
it is always a painful word, but I will say, come again. When 
you have made your tour to the Highlands, come here and give 
me a few more days — but come when you please, you will 
always find Abbotsford open to you, and a hearty welcome." 

172. I have thus given, in a rude style, my main recollec- 
tions of what occurred during my sojourn at Abbotsford, and 
I feel mortified that I can give but such meagre, scattered, 
and colorless details of what was so copious, rich, and varied. 
During several days that I passed there, Scott was in ad- 
mirable vein. From early morn until dinner time he was 
rambling about, showing me the neighborhood, and during 



ABBOTSFORD 253 

dinner, and until late at night, engaged in social conversation. 
No time was reserved for himself; he seemed as if his only 
occupation was to entertain me; and yet I was almost an 
entire stranger to him, one of whom he knew nothing but an 
idle book I had written, and which, some years before, had 
amused him. But such was Scott — he appeared to have 
nothing to do but lavish his time, attention, and conversation 
on those around. It was difficult to imagine what time he 
found to write those volumes that were incessantly issuing 
from the press ; all of which, too, were of a nature to require 
reading and research. I could not find that his life was ever 
otherwise than a life of leisure and hap-hazard recreation, such 
as it was during my visit. He scarce ever balked a party of 
pleasure, or a sporting excursion, and rarely pleaded his own 
concerns as an excuse for rejecting those of others. During 
my visit I heard of other visitors who had preceded me, and 
who must have kept him occupied for many days, and I have 
had an opportunity of knowing the course of his daily life for 
some time subsequently. Not long after my departure from 
Abbotsford, my friend Wilkie arrived there, to paint a picture 
of the Scott family. He found the house full of guests. 
Scott's whole time was taken up in riding and driving about 
the country, or in social conversation at home. "All this 
time," said Wilkie to me, ''I did not presume to ask Mr. 
Scott to sit for his portrait, for I saw he had not a moment 
to spare ; I waited for the guests to go away, but as fast as one 
went another arrived, and so it continued for several days, 
and with each set he was completely occupied. At length all 
went off, and we were quiet. I thought, however, Mr. Scott 
will now shut himself up among his books and papers, for he 
has to make up for lost time ; it won't do for me to ask him 
now to sit for his picture. Laidlaw, who managed his estate, 
came in, and Scott turned to him, as I supposed, to consult 
about business. 'Laidlaw,' said he, 'to-morrow morning 
we'll go across the water and take the dogs with us : there's 
a place where I think we shall be able to find a hare.' 

173. "In short," added Wilkie, "I found that instead of 
business, he was thinking only of amusement, as if he had 



254 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

nothing in the world to occupy him ; so I no longer feared to 
intrude upon him." 

174. The conversation of Scott was frank, hearty, pictur- 
esque, and dramatic. During the time of my visit he inclined 
to the comic rather than the grave, in his anecdotes and 
stories, and such, I was told, was his general inclination. 
He relished a joke, or a trait of humor in social intercourse, 
and laughed with right good will. He talked not for effect, 
nor display, but from the flow of his spirits, the stores of his 
memory, and the vigor of his imagination. He had a natural 
turn for narration, and his narratives and descriptions were 
without effort, yet wonderfully graphic. He placed the 
scene before you like a picture ; he gave the dialogue with 
the appropriate dialect or peculiarities, and described the ap- 
pearance and characters of his personages with that spirit and 
felicity evinced in his writings. Indeed, his conversation re- 
minded me continually of his novels; and it seemed to me, 
that, during the whole time I was with him, he talked enough 
to fill volumes, and that they could not have been filled 
more delightfully. 

175. He was as good a listener as talker, appreciating every- 
thing that others said, however humble might be their rank or 
pretensions, and was quick to testify his perception of any 
point in their discourse. He arrogated nothing to himself, but 
was perfectly unassuming and unpretending, entering with 
heart and soul into the business, or pleasure, or, I had almost 
said, folly, of the hour and the company. No one's concerns, 
no one's thoughts, no one's opinions, no one's tastes and 
pleasures seemed beneath him. He made himself so thor- 
oughly the companion of those with whom he happened to be, 
that they forgot for a time his vast superiority, and only 
recollected and wondered, when all was over, that it was Scott 
with whom they had been on such familiar terms, and in 
whose society they had felt so perfectly at their ease. 

176. It was delightful to observe the generous spirit in 
which he spoke of all his literary contemporaries, quoting 
the beauties of their works, and this, too, with respect to per- 
sons with whom he might have been supposed to be at vari- 



ABBOTSFORD 



255 



ance in literature or politics. Jeffrey, it was thought, had 
ruffled his plumes in one of his reviews, yet Scott spoke of him 
in terms of high and warm eulogy, both as an author and as 
a man. 

177. His humor in conversation, as in his works, was genial 
and free from all causticity. He had a quick perception of 




The Abbotsford Family in 1817 
After the painting by Sir David Wilkie 



faults and foibles, but he looked upon poor human nature with 
an indulgent eye, relishing what was good and pleasant, tol- 
erating what was frail, and pitying what was evil. It is this 
beneficent spirit which gives such an air of bonhommie to 
Scott's humor throughout all his works. He played with the 
foibles and errors of his fellow-beings, and presented them in 
a thousand whimsical and characteristic lights, but the kind- 
ness and generosity of his nature would not allow him to be a 
satirist. I do not recollect a sneer throughout his conver- 
sation any more than there is throughout his works. 



256 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

178. Such is a rough sketch of Scott, as I saw him in private 
life, not merely at the time of the visit here narrated, but in 
the casual intercourse of subsequent years. Of his public 
character and merits all the world can judge. His works have 
incorporated themselves with the thoughts and concerns of 
the whole civilized world, for a quarter of a century, and have 
had a controlling influence over the age in which he lived. 
But when did a human being ever exercise an influence more 
salutary and benignant ? Who is there that, on looking back 
over a great portion of his life, does not find the genius of 
Scott administrating to his pleasures, beguiling his cares, and 
soothing his lonely sorrows? Who does not still regard his 
works as a treasury of pure enjoyment, an armory to which 
to resort in time of need, to find weapons with which to fight 
off the evils and the griefs of life? For my own part, in 
periods of dejection, I have hailed the announcement of a 
new work from his pen as an earnest of certain pleasure in 
store for me, and have looked forward to it as a traveller in a 
waste looks to a green spot at a distance, where he feels as- 
sured of solace and refreshment. When I consider how much 
he has thus contributed to the better hours of my past 
existence, and how independent his works still make me, at 
times, of all the world for my enjoyment, I bless my stars 
that cast my lot in his days, to be thus cheered and glad- 
dened by the outpourings of his genius. I consider it one 
of the greatest advantages that I have derived from my 
literary career, that it has elevated me into genial com- 
munion with such a spirit ; and as a tribute of gratitude for 
his friendship, and veneration for his memory, I cast this 
humble stone upon his cairn, which will soon, I trust, be 
piled aloft with the contribution of abler hands. 



THE STUDY OF RIP VAN WINKLE 



PRELIMINARY NOTE 

Irving's essays often approach the narrative form ; his stories, 
in turn, are often in the first part no more than narrative 
essays. In them, he follows his usual custom, beginning with 
general description, going on, presently, to particulars of time, 
place, special interest, etc. Afterward, he takes up in order the 
persons who are to appear in the story, giving first a description 
of appearance and character, then an account of manner of life, 
peculiarities, and relations with neighbors and friends. The 
real story begins only when Irving has finished all preliminaries 
and described in detail place, persons, and antecedent story; 
the particular incident is then introduced as an illustration of 
the general and habitual course of life described before. 

Irving himself recognized the moment of transition from 
preliminary narrative to the real action, or plot of his story, 
and invariably marked the change by assuming a definite time 
as a beginning, and by dropping the historical past of customary 
action and using the past of direct narrative. In " Rip Van 
Winkle," the real story begins " . . . on a fine autumnal day 
Rip had unconsciously," etc. The story of "The Legend of 
Sleepy Hollow " begins, " On a fine autumnal afternoon, Icha- 
bod . . . sat enthroned," etc. 

Irving's way of telling a story is in marked contrast with the 
literary conventions of the present day, when readers are plunged 
at once in medias res, with slight clue to incidental matters 
or antecedent story, while essential preliminaries, if given at all, 
must be introduced later, as occasion offers. The effectiveness 
of a very simple incident, told in the earlier manner, is due in 
great part to the careful preliminary descriptions which create 
background and atmosphere for the reader, so that scenes and 
persons appearing in the story are already familiar and asso- 
ciated with the homely, simple facts of real life on which sym- 
pathy and interest depend. 

The following discussion of the art of story telling, from a 
letter written by Irving in 1824, is especially pertinent to the 
tales published in '' The Sketch-Book " : — 

" . . .1 fancy much of what I value myself upon in writing, escapes 
the observation of the great mass of my readers, who are intent more 
upon the story than the way in which it is told. For my part, I consider 

257 



258 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

astory merel}' as a frame on which to stretch my m^aterials. It is the 
play of thought, and sentiment, and language ; the weaving in of char- 
acters, lightly, yet expressively delineated ; the familiar and faithful 
exhibition of scenes in common life ; and the half-concealed vein of 
humor that is often playing through the whole, — these are among what 
I aim at, and upon which I felicitate myself in proportion as I think 
I succeed. I have preferred adopting the mode of sketches and short 
tales rather than long works, because I choose to take a line of writing 
peculiar to myself, rather than fall into the manner or school of any 
other writer ; and there is a constant activity of thought and a nicety of 
execution required in writings of the kind, more than the world appears 
to imagine. It is comparatively easy to swell a story to any size when 
you have once the scheme and the characters in your mind ; the mere 
interest of the story, too, carries the reader on through pages and 
pages of careless writing, and the author may often be dull for half 
a volume at a time, if he has some striking scene at the end of it ; but 
in these shorter writings, every page must have its merit. The author 
must be continually piquant ; woe to him if he makes an awkward 
sentence or writes a stupid page ; the critics are sure to pounce upon 
it. Yet if he succeed, the very variety and piquancy of his writings — 
nay, their very brevity, make them frequently recurred to, and when 
the mere interest of the story is exhausted, he begins to get credit for 
his touches of pathos or humor ; his points of wit or turns of lan- 
guage. I give these as some of the reasons that have induced me to 
keep on thus far in the way I had opened for myself ; because I find 
. . . that you are joining in the oft-repeated advice that I should write 
a novel. I believe the works that I have written will be oftener re- 
read than any novel of the size that I could have written. It is 
true other writers have crowded into the same branch of literature, 
and I now begin to find myself elbowed by men who have followed 
my footsteps ; but at any rate I have had the merit of adopting a hne 
for myself, instead of following others." 

— Life and Letters, II, pp. 51-2. 

The following selections from living's works or letters have 
an intimate relation to the scenes and story of Rip Van Winkle. 
The description of travel on the Hudson river is, besides, of great 
interest as a picture of life in the United States in early days, 
before the great changes brought about by modern invention. 
The legend of "The Storm Ship," taken from " Dolph Heyliger," 
might have been written as an introduction to the story of Rip 
Van Winkle, and as such it is reprinted here. The suggestion 
that the phantom ship might be the Half-moon bearing the 
veritable Hendrick Hudson and his crew to their periodical 
revels in the Kaatskill mountains foreshadows Rip's strange 
adventure. 

Human instinct seeks a local habitation for each story or 
tradition, — for the twenty-year long sleep of Rip Van Winkle, 
no less than for the inn at the foot of the mountains. Irving 
explored the scenes of his own story for the first time in 1833. 
Later, he received a letter from a young lad of the village of 



THE STUDY OF RIP VAN WINKLE 259 



Catskill, who inquired about the localities of the story. His 
answer may be read in ''Life and Letters," II., p. 281. 

It seems to have been Irving's thought that the green knoll 
overlooking the lowlands and the Hudson, the dry bed of the 
mountain stream, and the opening through the cliffs should 
have no more definite location for the reader than in the hazy brain 
of the bewildered Rip when he awakened. Guides, however, 
have gone about the business of satisfying the curious, and if 
you visit the Catskills you will be shown the plateau where Rip 
came upon the "company of odd looking personages playing 
at ninepins"; and farther down, near the mountain path, 
you will discover the very rock upon which Rip was deposited 
by the phantom crew for his long sleep, and see the indentations 
where his shoulders rested ! D. 



Reminiscences of Irving's First Voyage up the Hudson 

From an article called " The Kaatsldll Mountains," written by Irving in 1851. 

My first voyage up the Hudson was made in early boyhood, 
in the good old times before steamboats and railroads had 
annihilated time and space, and driven all poetry and romance 
out of travel. A voyage to Albany then, was equal to a voy- 
age to Europe at present, and took almost as much time. We 
enjoyed the beauties of the river in those days; the features 
of nature were not all jumbled together, nor the towns and 
villages huddled one into the other by railroad speed as they 
now are. 

I was to make the voyage under the protection of a relative 
of mature age — one experienced in the river. His first care 
was to look out for a favorite sloop and captain, in which 
there was great choice. 

The constant voyaging in the river craft by the best families 
of New York and Albany, made the merits of captains and 
sloops matters of notoriety and discussion in both cities. The 
captains were mediums of communication between separated 
friends and families. On the arrival of one of them at either 
place he had messages to deliver and commissions to execute 
which took him from house to house. Some of the ladies of 
the family had, peradventure, made a voyage on board of his 
sloop, and experienced from him that protecting care which 
is always remembered with gratitude by female passengers. 



260 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

In this way the captains of Albany sloops were personages of 
more note in the community than captains of European 
packets or steamships at the present day. A sloop was at 
length chosen; but she had yet to complete her freight and 
secure a sufficient number of passengers. Days were con- 
sumed in "drumming up'' a cargo. This was a tormenting 
delay to me who was about to make my first voyage, and who, 
boy-like, had packed up my trunk on the first mention of the 
expedition. How often that trunk had to be unpacked and 
repacked before we sailed ! 

... At length the sloop actually got under way. As she 
worked slowly out of the dock into the stream, there was a 
great exchange of last words between friends on board and 
friends on shore, and much waving of handkerchiefs when the 
sloop was out of hearing. 

Our captain was a worthy man, native of Albany, of one 
of the old Dutch stocks. His crew was composed of blacks, 
reared in the family and belonging to him, for negro slavery 
still existed in the State. All his communications with them 
were in Dutch. They were obedient to his orders; though 
they occasionally had much previous discussion of the wisdom 
of them, and were sometimes positive in maintaining an 
opposite opinion. This was especially the case with an old 
gray-headed negro, who had sailed with the captain's father 
when the captain was a mere boy, and who was very crabbed 
and conceited on points of seamanship. I observed that the 
captain generally let him have his own way. 

. . . What a time of intense delight was that first sail 
through the Highlands ! I sat on the deck as we slowly tided 
along at the foot of those stern mountains, and gazed with 
wonder and admiration at cliffs impending far above me, 
crowned with forests, with eagles sailing and screaming around 
them ; or listened to the unseen stream dashing down preci- 
pices ; or beheld rock, and tree, and cloud, and sky reflected 
in the glassy stream of the river. And then how solemn and 
thrilling the scene as we anchored at night at the foot of these 
mountains, clothed with overhanging forests ; and everything 
grew dark and mysterious ; and I heard the plaintive note of 
the whip-poor-will from the mountain-side, or was startled 
now and then by the sudden leap and heavy splash of the 
sturgeon. 

. . . But of all the scenery of the Hudson, the Kaatskill 



THE STUDY OF EIP VAN WINKLE 261 

mountains had the most witching effect on my boyish imagi- 
nation. Never shall I forget the effect upon me of the first 
view of them predominating over a wide extent of country, 
part wild, woody, and rugged ; part softened away into all 
the graces of cultivation. As we slowly floated along, I lay 
on the deck and watched them through a long summer's 
day, undergoing a thousand mutations under the magical 
effects of atmosphere; sometimes seeming to approach, at 
other times to recede ; now almost melting into hazy distance, 
now burnished by the setting sun, until, in the evening, they 
printed themselves against the glowing sky in the deep purple 
of an Italian landscape. 

In the foregoing pages I have given the reader my first 
voyaging amid Hudson scenery. It has been my lot, in the 
course of a somewhat wandering life, to see some of the rivers 
of the old world most renowned in history and song, yet none 
have been able to efface or dim the pictures of my native 
stream thus early stamped upon my memory. My heart 
would ever revert to them with a filial feeling, and a recurrence 
of the joyous associations of boyhood; and such recollec- 
tions are, in fact, the true fountains of youth which keep the 
heart from growing old. 

To me the Hudson is full of storied associations, connected 
as it is with some of the happiest portions of my life. Each 
striking feature brings to mind some early adventure or enjoy- 
ment; some favorite companion who shared it with me; 
some fair object, perchance, of youthful admiration, who, 
like a star, may have beamed her allotted time and passed 
away. 

— Life and Letters, I, pp 17-20. 

The Catskill Mountains 

From "Biographies and Miscellanies," edited after Irving's death, by Pierre 

M. Irving, 

The Catskill, Kaatskill, or Cat River mountains derived 
their name, in the time of the Dutch domination, from the 
catamounts by which they were infested; and which, with 
the bear, the wolf, and the deer, are still to be found in some of 
their most difficult recesses. The interior of these mountains 
is in the highest degree wild and romantic. Here are rocky 
precipices mantled with primeval forests ; deep gorges walled 



262 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

in by beetling cliffs, with torrents tumbling as it were from 
the sky; and savage glens rarely trodden excepting by the 
hunter. With all this internal rudeness, the aspect of these 
mountains towards the Hudson at times is eminently bland 
and beautiful, sloping down into a country softened by culti- 
vation, and bearing much of the rich character of Italian 
scenery about the skirts of the Apennines. 

The Catskills form an advanced post or lateral spur of the 
great Alleghanian or Appalachian system of mountains which 
sweeps through the interior of our continent, from southwest 
to northeast, from Alabama to the extremity of Maine, for 
nearly fourteen hundred miles, belting the whole of our original 
confederacy, and rivalling our great system of lakes in extent 
and grandeur. Its vast ramifications comprise a number of 
parallel chains and lateral groups ; such as the Cumberland 
mountains, the Blue Ridge, the Alleghanies, the Delaware and 
Lehigh, the Highlands of the Hudson, the Green mountains of 
Vermont and the White mountains of New Hampshire. 
In many of these vast ranges or sierras. Nature still reigns 
in indomitable wildness; their rocky ridges, their rugged 
clefts and defiles, teem with magnificent vegetation. 

Here are locked up mighty forests that have never been 
invaded by the axe ; deep umbrageous valleys where the vir- 
gin soil has never been outraged by the plough ; bright streams 
flowing in untasked idleness, unburdened by commerce, 
unchecked by the mill-dam. This mountain zone is in fact 
the great poetical region of our country; resisting, like the 
tribes which once inhabited it, the taming hand of cultivation ; 
and maintaining a hallowed ground for fancy and the Muses. 
It is a magnificent and all-pervading feature, that might 
have given our country a name, and a poetical one, had 
not the all-controlling powers of commonplace determined 
otherwise. 

The Catskill mountains, as I have observed, maintain all 
the internal wildness of the labyrinth of mountains with 
which they are connected. Their detached position, over- 
looking a wide lowland region, with the majestic Hudson 
rolling through it, has given them a distinct character, and 
rendered them at all times a rallying point for romance and 
fable. Much of the fanciful associations with which they 
have been clothed may be owing to their being pecuharly 
subject to those beautiful atmospherical effects which con- 



THE STUDY OF RIP VAK WINKLE 263 

stitute one of the great charms of Hudson river scenery. 
To me they have ever been the fairy region of the Hudson. 
I speak, however, from early impressions, made in the happy 
days of boyhood, when all the world had a tinge of fairyland. 
I shall never forget my first view of these mountains. It was 
in the course of a voyage up the Hudson, in the good old times 
before steamboats and railroads had driven all poetry and 
romance out of travel. A voyage up the Hudson in those 
days was equal to a voyage to Europe at present, and cost 
almost as much time; but we enjoyed the river then; we, 
relished it as we did our wine, sip by sip, not as at present, 
gulping all down at a draught, without tasting it. My 
whole voyage up the Hudson was full of wonder and romance. 
I was a lively boy, somewhat imaginative, of easy faith, 
and prone to relish everything that partook of the marvellous. 
Among the passengers on board of the sloop was a veteran 
Indian trader, on his way to the lakes to traffic with the na- 
tives. He had discovered my propensity, and amused him- 
self throughout the voyage by telling me Indian legends and 
grotesque stories about every noted place on the river, — 
such as Spuyten Devil creek, the Tappan sea, the Devil's 
Dans Kammer, and other hobgoblin places. The Catskill 
mountains especially called forth a host of fanciful traditions. 
We were all day slowly tiding along in sight of them, so that 
we had full time to weave his whimsical narratives. In these 
mountains, he told me, according to Indian belief, was kept 
the great treasury of storm and sunshine for the region of 
the Hudson. An old squaw spirit had charge of it, who dwelt 
on the highest peak of the mountain. Here she kept Day and 
Night shut up in her wigwam, letting out only one of them at 
a time. She made new moons every month, and hung them 
up in the sky cutting up the old ones into stars. The great 
Manitou, or master-spirit, employed her to manufacture 
clouds ; sometimes she wove them out of cobwebs, gossamers, 
and morning dew, and sent them off flake after flake, to float 
in the air and give light summer showers. Sometimes she 
would brew up black thunder-storms, and send down drench- 
ing rains to swell the streams and sweep everything away. 
He had many stories, also, about mischievous spirits who 
infested the mountains in the shape of animals, and played 
all kinds of pranks upon Indian hunters, decoying them into 
quagmires and morasses, or to the brinks of torrents and 



264 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

precipices. All these were doled out to me as I lay on the 
deck throughout a long summer's day, gazing upon these 
mountains, the everchanging shapes and hues of which ap- 
peared to realize the magical influences in question. Some- 
times they seemed to approach ; at others to recede ; during 
the heat of the day they almost melted into a sultry haze ; as 
the day declined they deepened in tone ; their summits were 
brightened by the last rays of the sun, and later in the even- 
ing their whole outline was printed in deep purple against 
an amber sky. As I beheld them thus shifting continually 
before my eyes, and listened to the marvellous legends of the 
trader, a host of fanciful notions concerning them was con- 
jured into my brain, which have haunted it ever since. 

As to the Indian superstitions concerning the treasury of 
storms and sunshine, and the cloud-weaving spirits, they 
may have been suggested by the atmospherical phenomena 
of these mountains, the clouds which gather round their 
summits, and the thousand aerial effects which indicate the 
changes of weather over a great extent of country. They are 
epitomes of our variable climate, and are stamped with all 
its vicissitudes. And here let me say a word in favor of those 
vicissitudes which are too often made the subject of exclusive 
repining. If they annoy us occasionally by changes from 
hot to cold, from wet to dry, they give us one of the most 
beautiful climates in the world. They give us the brilliant 
sunshine of the south of Europe, with the fresh verdure of the 
north. They float our summer sky with clouds of gorgeous 
tints or fleecy whiteness, and send down cooling showers to 
refresh the panting earth and keep it green. Our seasons are 
all poetical; the phenomena of our heavens are full of sub- 
limity and beauty. Winter with us has none of its proverbial 
gloom. It may have its howling winds, and thrilling frosts, 
and whirling snowstorms; but it has also its long intervals 
of cloudless sunshine, when the snow-clad earth gives re- 
doubled brightness to the day ; when at night the stars beam 
with intense lustre, or the moon floods the whole landscape 
with her most limpid radiance ; — and then the joyous out- 
break of our spring, bursting at once into leaf and blossom, 
redundant with vegetation and vociferous with life ! — And 
the splendors of our summer, — its morning voluptuousness 
and evening glory ; its airy palaces of sun-gilt clouds piled up 
in a deep azure sky, and its gusts of tempest of almost tropical 



THE STUDY OF RIP VAN WINKLE 265 

grandeur, when the forked lightning and the bellowing thunder 
volley from the battlements of heaven and shake the sultry 
atmosphere, — and the sublime melancholy of our autumn, 
magnificent in its decay, withering down the pomp and pride 
of a woodland country, yet reflecting back from its yellow 
forests the golden serenity of the sky : — surely we may say 
that in our climate, "The heavens declare the glory of God, 
and the firmament showeth forth his handiwork : day unto day 
uttereth speech; and night unto night showeth knowledge." 

A word more concerning the Catskills. It is not the Indians 
only to whom they have been a kind of wonder-land. In the 
early times of the Dutch dynasty we find them themes of 
golden speculation among even the sages of New Amsterdam. 

[Here follows the story of Kieft's disastrous attempts to 
find gold in these mountains. — D.] 

... In 1649, about two years after the shipwreck of Wilhel- 
mus Kieft, there was again a rumor of precious metals in these 
mountains. Mynheer Brant Arent Van Slechtenhorst, agent 
of the Patroon of Rensselaerswyck, had purchased in behalf 
of the Patroon a tract of the Catskill lands, and leased it out 
in farms. A Dutch lass in the household of one of the farmers 
found one day a glittering substance, which, on being examined, 
was pronounced silver ore. Brant Van Slechtenhorst forth- 
with sent his son from Rensselaerswyck to explore the 
mountains in quest of the supposed mines. The young man 
put up in the farmer's house, which had recently been erected 
on the margin of a mountain stream. Scarcely was he housed 
when a furious storm burst forth on the mountains. The 
thunders rolled, the lightnings flashed, the rain came down 
in cataracts; the stream was suddenly swollen to a furious 
torrent thirty feet deep ; the farmhouse and all its contents 
were swept away, and it was only by dint of excellent swim- 
ming that young Slechtenhorst saved his own life and the 
lives of his horses. Shortly after this a feud broke out be- 
tween Peter Stuyvesant and the Patroon of Rensselaerswyck 
on account of the right and title to the Catskill mountains, 
in the course of which the elder Slechtenhorst was taken 
captive by the Potentate of the New Netherlands and thrown 
in prison at New Amsterdam. 



266 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

In July, 1832, Irving visited for the first time the scene of his 
story of Rip Van Winkle. He writes of this visit to his brother 
Peter : — 

" . . . From thence we took steamboat, and in a few hours 
were landed at Catskill, where a stage-coach was in waiting, and 
whirled us twelve miles up among the mountains to a fine 
hotel built on the very brow of a precipice and commanding 
one of the finest prospects in the world. We remained here 
until the next day, visiting the waterfall, glen, etc., that are 
pointed out as the veritable haunts of Rip Van Winkle, . . . 

"... The wild scenery of these mountains outdoes all my 
conception of it." 

"'I have little doubt,' writes Peter in reply, 'but some curious 
travellers will yet find some of the bones of his dog, if they 
can but hit upon the veritable spot of his long sleep.'" 

— Life and Letters, II, p. 256. 

In July of the next year, Irving repeated the curious ex- 
perience of localizing his own imaginary scenes. On his way 
down the river he passed a day in the neighborhood of Kingston, 
and explored for the first time the old Dutch villages there and 
the scenes of his story. 

— Life and Letters, II, p. 280. 



RIP VAN WINKLE 

A POSTHUMOUS WRITING OF DIEDRICH KNICKER- 
BOCKER 

By Woden, God of Saxons, 

From whence conies Wensday, that is Wodensday. 

Truth is a thing that ever I will keep 

Unto thylke day in which I creep into 

My sepulchre — Cartwright. 

[The following Tale was found among the papers of the late Died- 
rich Knickerbocker, an old gentleman of New York, who was very 
curious in the Dutch history of the province, and the manners of the 
descendants from its primitive settlers. His historical researches, 
however, did not lie so much among books as among men; for the 
former are lamentably scanty on his favorite topics ; whereas he found 
the old burghers, and still more their wives, rich in that legendary 
lore so invaluable to true history. Whenever, therefore, he happened 
upon a genuine Dutch family, snugly shut up in its low-roofed farm- 
house, under a spreading sycamore, he looked upon it as a little 
elapsed volume of black-letter, and studied it with the zeal of a book- 
worm. 

The result of all these researches was a history of the province dur- 
ing the reign of the Dutch governors, which he published some years 
since. There have been various opinions as to the literary character 
of his work, and, to tell the truth, it is not a whit better than it should 
be. Its chief merit is its scrupulous accuracy, which indeed was a 
little questioned on its first appearance, but has since been completely 
established ; and is now admitted into all historical collections as a 
book of unquestionable authority. 

The old gentleman died shortly after the publication of his work ; 
and now that he is dead and gone, it cannot do much harm to his 
memory to say that his time might have been much better employed 
in weightier labors. He, however, was apt to ride his hobby his 
own way ; and though it did now and then kick up the dust a little 
in the eyes of his neighbors, and grieve the spirit of some friends, for 
whom he felt the truest deference and affection, yet his errors and 
follies are remembered "more in sorrow than in anger," and it 
begins to be suspected that he never intended to injure or offend. 
But however his memory may be appreciated by critics, it is still 
held dear by many folks whose good opinion is well worth having; 
particularly by certain biscuit-bakers, who have gone so far as to im- 
print his likeness on their New-Year cakes ; and have thus given him 
a chance for immortality, almost equal to the being stamped on a 
Waterloo Medal, or a Queen Anne's Farthing.] 

1. Whoever has made a voyage up the Hudson must re- 
member the Kaatskill mountains. They are a dismembered 

267 



268 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

branch of the great Appalachian family, and are seen away to 
the west of the river, swelling up to a noble height, and lord- 
ing it over the surrounding country. Every change of season, 
every change of weather, indeed, every hour of the day, pro- 
duces some change in the magical hues and shapes of these 
mountains, and they are regarded by all the good wives, far 
and near, as perfect barometers. When the weather is fair 
and settled, they are clothed in blue and purple, and print 
their bold outlines on the clear evening sky ; but sometimes, 
when the rest of the landscape is cloudless, they will gather 
a hood of gray vapors about their summits, which, in the 
last rays of the setting sun, will glow and light up like a crown 
of glory. 

2. At the foot of these fairy mountains, the voyager may 
have descried the light smoke curling up from a village, whose 
shingle-roofs gleam among the trees, just where the blue tints 
of the upland melt away into the fresh green of the nearer 
landscape. It is a httle village, of great antiquity, having 
been founded by some of the Dutch colonists in the early 
times of the province, just about the beginning of the 
government of the good Peter Stuyvesant, (may he rest 
in peace !) and there were some of the houses of the original 
settlers standing within a few years, built of small yellow 
bricks brought from Holland, having latticed windows and 
gable fronts, surmounted with weathercocks. 

3. In that same village, and in one of these very houses 
(which, to tell the precise truth, was sadly time-worn and 
weather-beaten), there lived, many years since, while the 
country was yet a province of Great Britain, a simple, good- 
natured fellow, of the name of Rip Van Winkle. He was a 
descendant of the Van Winkles who figured so gallantly in the 
chivalrous days of Peter Stuyvesant, and accompanied him to 
the siege of Fort Christina. He inherited, however, but little 
of the martial character of his ancestors. I have observed 
that he was a simple, good-natured man ; he was, moreover, a 
kind neighbor, and an obedient, hen-pecked husband. In- 
deed, to the latter circumstance might be owing that meek- 
ness of spirit which gained him such universal popularity ; for 



RIP VAN WINKLE 



269 



those men are most apt to be obsequious and conciliating 
abroad, who are under the disciphne of shrews at home. 
Their tempers, doubtless, are rendered pliant and malleable 
in the fiery furnace of domestic tribulation; and a curtain- 




"He was a Great Favorite among all the Children" 
From a drawing by F. 0. C. Darley 

lecture is worth all the sermons in the world for teaching the 
virtues of patience and long-suffering. A termagant wife 
may, therefore, in some respects, be considered a tolerable 
blessing; and if so, Rip Van Winkle was thrice blessed. 

4. Certain it is, that he was a great favorite among all the 
good wives of the village, who, as usual with the amiable sex, 
took his part in all family squabbles ; and never failed, when- 
ever they talked those matters over in their evening gossip- 
ings, to lay all the blame on Dame Van Winkle. The children 
of the village, too, would shout with joy whenever he ap- 
proached. He assisted at their sports, made their playthings, 



270 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

taught them to fly kites and shoot marbles, and told them 
long stories of ghosts, witches, and Indians. Whenever he 
went dodging about the village, he was surrounded by a 
troop of them, hanging on his skirts, clambering on his back, 
and playing a thousand tricks on him with impunity; and 
not a dog would bark at him throughout the neighborhood. 

5. The great error in Rip's composition was an insuperable 
aversion to all kinds of profitable labor. It could not be from 
the want of assiduity or perseverance ; for he would sit on a 
wet rock, with a rod as long and heavy as a Tartar's lance, and 
fish all day without a murmur, even though he should not 
be encouraged by a single nibble. He would carry a fowling- 
piece on his shoulder for hours together, trudging through 
woods and swamps, and up hill and down dale, to shoot a 
few squirrels or wild pigeons. He would never refuse to 
assist a neighbor in even the roughest toil, and was a foremost 
man at all country frolics for husking Indian corn, or building 
stone fences; the women of the village, too, used to employ 
him to run their errands, and to do such little odd jobs as their 
less obliging husbands would not do for them. In a word. Rip 
was ready to attend to anybody's business but his own ; but 
as to doing family duty, and keeping his farm in order, he 
found it impossible. 

6. In fact, he declared it was of no use to work on his farm ; 
it was the most pestilent little piece of ground in the whole 
country; everything about it went wrong, and would go 
wrong, in spite of him. His fences were continually falling 
to pieces; his cow would either go astray, or get among the 
cabbages ; weeds were sure to grow quicker in his fields than 
anywhere else ; the rain always made a point of setting in just 
as he had some out-door work to do; so that though his 
patrimonial estate had dwindled away under his management, 
acre by acre, until there was little more left than a mere patch 
of Indian corn and potatoes, yet it was the worst conditioned 
farm in the neighborhood. 

7. His children, too, were as ragged and wild as if they 
belonged to nobody. His son Rip, an urchin begotten in his 
own likeness, promised to inherit the habits, with the old 



KIP VAN WINKLE 271 

clothes, of his father. He was generally seen trooping like a 
colt at his mother's heels, equipped in a pair of his father's 
cast-off galligaskins, which he had much ado to hold up with 
one hand, as a fine lady does her train in bad weather. 

8. Rip Van Winkle, however, was one of those happy 
mortals, of foolish, well-oiled dispositions, who take the world 
easy, eat white bread or brown, whichever can be got with 
least thought or trouble, and would rather starve on a penny 
than work for a pound. If left to himself, he would have 
whistled life away in perfect contentment ; but his wife kept 
continually dinning in his ears about his idleness, his careless- 
ness, and the ruin he was bringing on his family. Morning, 
noon, and night, her tongue was incessantly going, and every- 
thing he said or did was sure to produce a torrent of household 
eloquence. Rip had but one way of replying to all lectures of 
the kind, and that, by frequent use, had grown into a habit. 
He shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, cast up his eyes, 
but said nothing. This, however, always provoked a fresh 
volley from his wife ; so that he was fain to draw off his forces, 
and take to the outside of the house — the only side which, 
in truth, belongs to a hen-pecked husband. 

9. Rip's sole domestic adherent was his dog Wolf, who was 
as much hen-pecked as his master; for Dame Van Winkle 
regarded them as companions in idleness, and even looked 
upon Wolf with an evil eye, as the cause of his master's going 
so often astray. True it is, in all points of spirit befitting an 
honorable dog, he was as courageous an animal as ever scoured 
the woods ; but what courage can withstand the ever-during 
and all-besetting terrors of a woman's tongue ? The moment 
Wolf entered the house his crest fell, his tail drooped to the 
ground, or curled between his legs, he sneaked about with a 
gallows air, casting many a sidelong glance at Dame Van 
Winkle, and at the least flourish of a broomstick or ladle he 
would fly to the door with yelping precipitation. 

10. Times grew worse and worse with Rip Van Winkle as 
years of matrimony rolled on; a tart temper never mellows 
with age, and a sharp tongue is the only edged tool that grows 
keener with constant use. For a long while he used to 



272 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

console himself, when driven from home, by frequenting a 
kind of perpetual club of the sages, philosophers, and other 
idle personages of the village, which held its sessions on a 
bench before a small inn, designated by a rubicund portrait 
of His Majesty George the Third. Here they used to sit 
in the shade through a long, lazy summer's day, talking list- 
lessly over village gossip, or telling endless sleepy stories about 
nothing. But it would have been worth any statesman's 
money to have heard the profound discussions that sometimes 
took place, when by chance an old newspaper fell into their 
hands from some passing traveller. How solemnly they 
would listen to the contents, as drawled out by Derrick Van 
Bummel, the schoolmaster, a dapper learned little man, who 
was not to be daunted by the most gigantic word in the dic- 
tionary; and how sagely they would deliberate upon public 
events some months after they had taken place. 

11. The opinions of this junto were completely controlled 
by Nicholas Vedder, a patriarch of the village, and landlord of 
the inn, at the door of which he took his seat from morning 
till night, just moving sufficiently to avoid the sun and keep 
in the shade of a large tree ; so that the neighbors could tell 
the hour by his movements as accurately as by a sun-dial. It 
is true he was rarely heard to speak, but smoked his pipe in- 
cessantly. His adherents, however (for every great man has 
his adherents), perfectly understood him, and knew how to 
gather his opinions. When anything that was read or related 
displeased him, he was observed to smoke his pipe vehemently, 
and to send forth short, frequent, and angry puffs ; but when 
pleased, he would inhale the smoke slowly and tranquilly, and 
emit it in light and placid clouds; and sometimes, taking 
the pipe from his mouth, and letting the fragrant vapor curl 
about his nose, would gravely nod his head in token of perfect 
approbation, 

12. From even this stronghold the unlucky Rip was at 
length routed by his termagant wife, who would suddenly 
break in upon the tranquillity of the assemblage and call the 
members all to naught; nor was that august personage, 
Nicholas Vedder himself, sacred from the daring tongue of 



RIP VAN WINKLE 273 

this terrible virago, who charged him outright with encour- 
aging her husband in habits of idleness. 

13. Poor Rip was at last reduced almost to despair; and 
his only alternative, to escape from the labor of the farm and 
clamor of his wife, was to take gun in hand and stroll away 
into the woods. Here he would sometimes seat himself at 
the foot of a tree, and share the contents of his wallet with 
Wolf, with whom he sympathized as a fellow-sufferer in per- 
secution. "Poor Wolf," he would say, "thy mistress leads 
thee a dog's life of it ; but never mind, my lad, whilst I live 
thou shalt never want a friend to stand by thee!" Wolf 
would wag his tail, look wistfully in his master's face ; and if 
dogs can feel pity, I verily believe he reciprocated the senti- 
ment with all his heart. 

14. In a long ramble of the kind on a fine autumnal day. 
Rip had unconsciously scrambled to one of the highest parts 
of the Kaat skill mountains. He was after his favorite sport 
of squirrel-shooting, and the still solitudes had echoed and 
reechoed with the reports of his gun. Panting and fatigued, 
he threw himself, late in the afternoon, on a green knoll, 
covered with mountain herbage, that crowned the brow of a 
precipice. From an opening between the trees he could over- 
look all the lower country for many a mile of rich woodland. 
He saw at a distance the lordly Hudson, far, far below him, 
moving on its silent but majestic course, with the reflection of 
a purple cloud, or the sail of a lagging bark, here and there 
sleeping on its glassy bosom, and at last losing itself in the blue 
highlands. 

15. On the other side he looked down into a deep mountain 
glen, wild, lonely, and shagged, the bottom filled with frag- 
ments from the impending cliffs, and scarcely lighted by the 
reflected rays of the setting sun. For some time Rip lay 
musing on this scene ; evening was gradually advancing ; the 
mountains began to throw their long blue shadows over the 
valleys ; he saw that it would be dark long before he could 
reach the village, and he heaved a heavy sigh when he 
thought of encountering the terrors of Dame Van Winkle. 

16. As he was about to descend, he heard a voice from a 



274 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

distance, hallooing, "Rip Van Winkle! Rip Van Winkle!" 
He looked round, but could see nothing but a crow winging 
its solitary flight across the mountain. He thought his fancy 
must have deceived him, and turned again to descend, when 
he heard the same cry ring through the still evening air : 
"Rip Van Winkle! Rip Van Winkle!" — at the same time 
Wolf bristled up his back, and giving a low growl, skulked to 
his master's side, looking fearfully down into the glen. Rip 
now felt a vague apprehension stealing over him ; he looked 
anxiously in the same direction, and perceived a strange 
figure slowly toiling up the rocks, and bending under the 
weight of something he carried on his back. He was surprised 
to see any human being in this lonely and unfrequented place ; 
but supposing it to be some one of the neighborhood in need 
of his assistance, he hastened down to yield it. 

17. On nearer approach he was still more surprised at the 
singularity of the stranger's appearance. He was a short, 
square-built old fellow, with thick bushy hair, and a grizzled 
beard. His dress was of the antique Dutch fashion, — a 
cloth jerkin strapped round the waist — several pair of 
breeches, the outer one of ample volume, decorated with rows 
of buttons down the sides, and bunches at the knees. He bore 
on his shoulder a stout keg, that seemed full of liquor, and 
made signs for Rip to approach and assist him with the load. 
Though rather shy and distrustful of this new acquaintance, 
Rip complied with his usual alacrity ; and mutually relieving 
one another, they clambered up a narrow gully, apparently 
the dry bed of a mountain torrent. As they ascended. Rip 
every now and then heard long, rolling peals, like distant 
thunder, that seemed to issue out of a deep ravine, or rather 
cleft, between lofty rocks, toward which their rugged path 
conducted. He paused for an instant, but supposing it to 
be the muttering of one of those transient thunder-showers 
which often take place in mountain heights he proceeded. 
Passing through the ravine, they came to a hollow like a 
small amphitheatre, surrounded by perpendicular precipices, 
over the brinks of which impending trees shot their branches, 
so that you only caught glimpses of the azure sky and the 




The Game of Ninepins 



RIP VAN WINKLE 275 

bright evening cloud. During the whole time Rip and his 
companion had labored on in silence ; for though the former 
marvelled greatly what could be the object of carrying a keg 
of liquor up this wild mountain, yet there was something 
strange and incomprehensible about the unknown, that in- 
spired awe and checked familiarity. 

18. On entering the amphitheatre, new objects of wonder 
presented themselves. On a level spot in the centre was a 
company of odd-looking personages playing at ninepins. 
They were dressed in a quaint, outlandish fashion ; some wore 
short doublets, others jerkins, with long knives in their belts 
and most of them had enormous breeches, of similar style 
with that of the guide's. Their visages, too, were peculiar : 
one had a large beard, broad face, and small piggish eyes; 
the face of another seemed to consist entirely of nose, and was 
surmounted by a white sugar-loaf hat, set off with a red cock's 
tail. They all had beards, of various shapes and colors. 
There was one who seemed to be the commander. He was a 
stout old gentleman, with a weather-beaten countenance; 
he wore a laced doublet, broad belt and hanger, high 
crowned hat and feather, red stockings, and high-heeled 
shoes, with roses in them. The whole group reminded Rip 
of the figures in an old Flemish painting, in the parlor of 
Dominie Van Shaick, the village parson, and which had been 
brought over from Holland at the time of the settlement. 

19. What seemed particularly odd to Rip was, that, 
though these folks were evidently amusing themselves, yet 
they maintained the gravest faces, the most mysterious 
silence, and were, withal, the most melancholy party of 
pleasure he had ever witnessed. Nothing interrupted the 
stillness of the scene but the noise of the balls, which, when- 
ever they were rolled, echoed along the mountains like rum- 
bling peals of thunder. 

20. As Rip and his companion approached them, they 
suddenly desisted from their play, and stared at him with 
such fixed, statue-hke gaze, and such strange, uncouth, lack- 
lustre countenances, that his heart turned within him, and 
his knees smote together. His companion now emptied the 



276 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

contents of the keg into large flagons, and made signs to him 
to wait upon the company. He obe3^ed with fear and trem- 
bUng; they quaffed the hquor in profound silence, and then 
returned to their game. 

21. By degrees Rip's awe and apprehension subsided. He 
even ventured, when no eye was fixed upon him, to taste the 
beverage, which he found had much of the flavor of excellent 
Hollands. He was naturally a thirsty soul, and was soon 
tempted to repeat the draught. One taste provoked another ; 
and he reiterated his visits to the flagon so often that at length 
his senses were overpowered, his eyes swam in his head, his 
head gradually declined, and he fell into a deep sleep. 

22. On waking, he found himself on the green knoll whence 
he had first seen the old man of the glen. He rubbed his 
eyes — it was a bright sunny morning. The birds were hop- 
ping and twittering among the bushes, and the eagle was 
wheeling aloft, and breasting the pure mountain breeze. 
"Surely," thought Rip, "I have not slept here all night." 
He recalled the occurrences before he fell asleep. The strange 
man with a keg of liquor — the mountain ravine — the wild 
retreat among the rocks — the woe-begone party at ninepins 
— the flagon — "Oh! that flagon! that wicked flagon!" 
thought Rip, — "what excuse shall I make to Dame Van 
Winkle?" 

23. He looked round for his gun, but in place of the clean, 
well-oiled fowling-piece, he found an old firelock lying by him, 
the barrel incrusted with rust, the lock falling off, and the 
stock worm-eaten. He now suspected that the grave roisters 
of the mountain had put a trick upon him, and, having dosed 
him with liquor, had robbed him of his gun. Wolf, too, had 
disappeared, but he might have strayed away after a squirrel 
or partridge. He whistled after him, and shouted his name, 
but all in vain ; the echoes repeated his whistle and shout, but 
no dog was to be seen. " 

24. He determined to revisit the scene of the last evening's 
gambol, and if he met with any of the party, to demand his 
dog and gun. As he rose to walk, he found himself stiff in the 
joints, and wanting in his usual activity. "These mountain 



RIP VAN WINKLE 



277 



beds do not agree with me," thought Rip, "and if this frohc 
should lay me up with a fit of the rheumatism, I shall have a 
blessed time with Dame Van Winkle." With some difficulty 
he got down into the glen : he found the gully up which he 
and his companion had 
ascended the preceding ^__ 

evening; but to his - ^-^ 

astonishment a moun- 
tain stream was now 
foaming down it, leap- 
ing from rock to rock, 
and filling the glen with 
babbling murmurs. He, 
however, made shift to 
scramble up its sides, 
working his toilsome 
way through thickets of 
birch, sassafras, and 
witch-hazel, and some- 
times tripped up or en- 
tangled by the wild 
grape-vines that twisted 
their coils or tendrils 
from tree to tree, and 
spread a kind of net- 
work in his path. 

25. At length he reached to where the ravine had opened 
through the cliffs to the amphitheatre ; but no traces of such 
opening remained. The rocks presented a high, impenetrable 
wall, over which the torrent came tumbling in a sheet of 
feathery foam, and fell into a broad deep basin, black from 
the shadows of the surrounding forest. Here, then, poor Rip 
was brought to a stand. He again called and whistled after 
his dog ; he was only answered by the cawing of a flock of idle 
crows, sporting high in air about a dry tree that overhung 
a sunny precipice ; and who, secure in their elevation, seemed 
to look down and scoff at the poor man's perplexities. What 
was to be done? the morning was passing away, and Rip 




Joseph Jefferson as Rip Van Winkle 
From a photograph by Sarony 



278 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

felt famished for want of his breakfast. He grieved to give 
up his dog and gun; he dreaded to meet his wife; but it 
would not do to starve among the mountains. He shook 
his head, shouldered the rusty firelock, and, with a heart full 
of trouble and anxiety, turned his steps homeward. 

26. As he approached the village he met a number of 
people, but none whom he knew, which somewhat surprised 
him, for he had thought himself acquainted with every one in 
the country round. Their dress, too, was of a different fashion 
from that to which he was accustomed. They all stared at 
him with equal marks of surprise, and whenever they cast 
their eyes upon him, invariably stroked their chins. The 
constant recurrence of this gesture induced Rip, involuntarily, 
to do the same, when, to his astonishment, he found his beard 
had grown a foot long ! 

27. He had now entered the skirts of the village. A troop 
of strange children ran at his heels, hooting after him, and 
pointing at his gray beard. The dogs, too, not one of which 
he recognized for an old acquaintance, barked at him as he 
passed. The very village was altered ; it was larger and more 
populous. There were rows of houses which he had never 
seen before, and those which had been his familiar haunts had 
disappeared. Strange names were over the doors — strange 
faces at the windows — everything was strange. His mind 
now misgave him ; he began to doubt whether both he and 
the world around him were not bewitched. Surely this was his 
native village, which he had left but the day before. There 
stood the Kaatskill mountains — there ran the silver Hudson 
at a distance — there was every hill and dale precisely as 
it had always been. Rip was sorely perplexed. " That flagon 
last night," thought he, "has addled my poor head sadly!" 

28. It was with some difficulty that he found the way to 
his own house, which he approached with silent awe, expecting 
every moment to hear the shrill voice of Dame Van Winkle. 
He found the house gone to decay — the roof fallen in, the 
windows shattered, and the doors off the hinges. A half- 
starved dog that looked like Wolf was skulking about it. 
Rip called him by name, but the cur snarled, showed his 



EIP VAN WINKLE 



279 



teeth, and passed on. This was an unkind cut indeed. "My 
very dog/' sighed poor Rip, "has forgotten me!'' 

29. He entered the house, which, to tell the truth. Dame 
Van Winkle had always kept in neat order. It was empty, 
forlorn, and apparently abandoned. This desolateness over- 




"My very Dog has forgottet^ Me! " 
From a drawing by F. O. C. Darley 

came all his connubial fears — he called loudly for his wife 
and children — the lonely chambers rang for a moment with 
his voice, and then all again was silence. 

30. He now hurried forth, and hastened to his old resort, 
the village inn — but it too was gone. A large rickety 
wooden building stood in its place, with great gaping windows, 
some of them broken and mended with old hats and petticoats, 
and over the door was painted, " The Union Hotel, by Jona- 
than Doolittle." Instead of the great tree that used to 
shelter the quiet little Dutch inn of yore, there now was reared 



280 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

a tall naked pole, with something on the top that looked like 
a red night-cap, and from it was fluttering a flag, on which 
was a singular assemblage of stars and stripes ; — all this was 
strange and incomprehensible. He recognized on the sign, 
however, the ruby face of King George, under which he had 
smoked so many a peaceful pipe ; but even this was singularly 
metamorphosed. The red coat was changed for one of blue 
and buff, a sword was held in the hand instead of a sceptre, 
the head was decorated with a cocked hat, and underneath 
was painted in large characters. General Washington. 

31. There was, as usual, a crowd of folk about the door, 
but none that Rip recollected. The very character of the 
people seemed changed. There was a busy, bustling, dis- 
putatious tone about it, instead of the accustomed phlegm 
and drowsy tranquillity. He looked in vain for the sage 
Nicholas Vedder,'with his broad face, double chin, and fair 
long pipe, uttering clouds of tobacco-smoke instead of idle 
speeches ; or Van Bummel, the schoolmaster, doling forth the 
contents of an ancient newspaper. In place of these, a lean, 
bilious-looking fellow, with his pockets full of hand-bills, 
was haranguing vehemently about rights of citizens — elec- 
tions — members of congress — liberty — Bunker's Hill — ■ 
heroes of seventy-six — and other words, which were a per- 
fect Babylonish jargon to the bewildered Van Winkle. 

32. The appearance of Rip, with his long, grizzled beard, 
his rusty fowling-piece, his uncouth dress, and an army of 
women and children at his heels, soon attracted the attention 
of the tavern-politicians. They crowded round him, eyeing 
him from head to foot with great curiosity. The orator 
bustled up to him, and, drawing him partly aside, inquired 
*'0n which side he voted?'' Rip stared in vacant stupidity. 
Another short but busy little fellow pulled him by the arm, 
and, rising on tiptoe, inquired in his ear, "Whether he was 
Federal or Democrat?" Rip was equally at a loss to com- 
prehend the question; when a knowing, self-important old 
gentleman, in a sharp cocked hat, made his way through the 
crowd, putting them to the right and left with his elbows 
as he passed, and planting himself before Van Winkle, with 



RIP VAN WINKLE 281 

one arm akimbo, the other resting on his cane, his keen eyes 
and sharp hat penetrating, as it were, into his very soul, 
demanded in an austere tone, "What brought him to the 
election with a gun on his shoulder, and a mob at his heels ; 
and whether he meant to breed a riot in the village?" — 
"Alas! gentlemen," cried Rip, somewhat dismayed, "I am 
a poor quiet man, a native of the place, and a loyal subject 
of the King, God bless him!" 

33. Here a general shout burst from the by-standers — "A 
tory ! a tory ! a spy ! a refugee ! hustle him ! away with 
him!" It was with great difficulty that the self-important 
man in the cocked hat restored order ; and, having assumed 
a tenfold austerity of brow, demanded again of the unknown 
culprit, what he came there for, and whom he was seeking? 
The poor man humbly assured him that he meant no harm, 
but merely came there in search of some of his neighbors, 
who used to keep about the tavern. 

"Well — who are they ? — name them." 
Rip bethought himself a moment, and inquired, "Whereas 
Nicholas Vedder?" 

34. There was a silence for a little while, when an old man 
replied, in a thin piping voice, "Nicholas Vedder ! why, he is 
dead and gone these eighteen years ! There was a wooden 
tombstone in the churchyard that used to tell all about him, 
but that's rotten and gone too." 

"Where's Brom Butcher?" 

" Oh, he went off to the army in the beginning of the war ; 
some say he was killed at the storming of Stony Point — 
others say he was drowned in a squall at the foot of Antony's 
Nose. I don't know — he never came back again." 

"Where's Van Bummel, the schoolmaster?" 

" He went off to the wars too, was a great militia general, and 
is now in congress." 

35. Rip's heart died away at hearing of these sad changes 
in his home and friends, and finding himself thus alone in 
the world. Every answer puzzled him too, by treating of 
such enormous lapses of time, and of matters which he could 
not understand : war — congress — Stony Point — he had 



282 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

no courage to ask after any more friends, but cried out in 
despair, ''Does nobody here know Rip Van Winkle?" 

"Oh, Rip Van Winkle!" exclaimed two or three, "oh, to 
be sure ! that's Rip Van Winkle yonder, leaning against the 
tree." 

36. Rip looked, and beheld a precise counterpart of him- 
self, as he went up the mountain; apparently as lazy, and 
certainlj^ as ragged. The poor fellow was now completely 
confounded. He doubted his own identity, and whether he 
was himself or another man. In the midst of his bewilder- 
ment, the man in the cocked hat demanded who he was, and 
what was his name. 

37. " God knows," exclaimed he, at his wit's end ; " I'm not 
myself — I'm somebody else — that's me yonder — no — 
that's somebody else got into my shoes — I was myself last 
night, but I fell asleep on the mountain, and they've changed 
my gun, and everything's changed, and I'm changed, and I 
can't tell what's my name, or who I am !" 

38. The by-standers began now to look at each other, nod, 
wink significantly, and tap their fingers against their fore- 
heads. There was a whisper, also, about securing the gun, and 
keeping the old fellow from doing mischief, at the very sugges- 
tion of which the self-important man in the cocked hat retired 
with some precipitation. At this critical moment a fresh, 
comely woman pressed through the throng to get a peep at the 
gray-bearded man. She had a chubby child in her arms, 
which frightened at his looks, began to cry. "Hush, Rip," 
cried she, "hush, you little fool; the old man won't hurt 
you." The name of the child, the air of the mother, the tone 
of her voice, all awakened a train of recollections in his 
mind. "What is your name, my good woman?" asked he. 

"Judith Gardenier." 

"And your father's name?" 

"Ah, poor man, Rip Van Winkle was his name, but it's 
twenty years since he went away from home with his gun, 
and never has been heard of since, — his dog came home with- 
out him; but whether he shot himself, or was carried away 
by the Indians, nobody can tell. I was then but a little girl. 



;> 



RIP VAN WINKLE 



283 



39. Rip had but one question more to ask; but he put it 
with a faltering voice : 




*' I'm not myself — that's me yonder 
From a engraving by E. Westall, R. A. 



"Where's your mother?" 

" Oh, she too had died but a short time since ; she broke a 
bloodvessel in a fit of passion at a New-England peddler." 

40. There was a drop of comfort, at least, in this intel- 
hgence. The honest man could contain himself no longer. 
He caught his daughter and her child in his arms. "I am 
your father !" cried he — "Young Rip Van Winkle once — 



284 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

old Rip Van Winkle now ! — Does nobody know poor Rip 
Van Winkle?'' 

41. All stood amazed, until an old woman, tottering out 
from among the crowd, put her hand to her brow, and peering 
under it in his face for a moment, exclaimed, " Sure enough ! 
it is Rip Van Winkle — it is himself! Welcome home again, 
old neighbor. Why, where have you been these twenty long 
years?'' 

42. Rip's story was soon told, for the whole twenty years 
had been to him but as one night. The neighbors stared 
when they heard it; some were seen to wink at each other, 
and i3ut their tongues in their cheeks : and the self-impor- 
tant man in the cocked hat, who, when the alarm was over, 
had returned to the field, screwed down the corners of his 
mouth, and shook his head — upon which there was a general 
shaking of the head throughout the assemblage. 

43. It was determined, however, to take the opinion of old 
Peter Vanderdonk, who was seen slowly advancing up the 
road. He was a descendant of the historian of that name, 
who wrote one of the earliest accounts of the province. Peter 
was the most ancient inhabitant of the village, and well versed 
in all the wonderful events and traditions of the neighborhood. 
He recollected Rip at once, and corroborated his story in the 
most satisfactory manner. He assured the company that 
it was a fact, handed down from his ancestor the historian, 
that the Kaatskill mountains had always been haunted by 
strange. beings. That it was affirmed that the great Hendrick 
Hudson, the first discoverer of the river and country, kept a 
kind of vigil there every twenty years, with his crew of the 
Half-moon ; being permitted in this way to revisit the scenes 
of his enterprise, and keep a guardian eye upon the river and 
the great city called by his name. That his father had once 
seen them in their old Dutch dresses playing at ninepins in a 
hollow of the mountain ; and that he himself had heard, one 
summer afternoon, the sound of their balls, like distant peals 
of thunder. 

44. To make a long story short, the company broke up 
and returned to the more important concerns of the elec- 



RIP VAN WINKLE 285 

tion. Rip's daughter took him home to hve with her; she 
had a snug, well-furnished house, and a stout, cheery farmer 
for a husband, whom Rip recollected for one of the urchins 
that used to climb upon his back. As to Rip's son and heir, 
who was the ditto of himself, seen leaning against the tree, 
he was employed to work on the farm ; but evinced an heredi- 
tary disposition to attend to anything else but his business. 

45. Rip now resumed his old walks and habits; he soon 
found many of his former cronies, though all rather the worse 
*for the wear and tear of time ; and preferred making friends 
among the rising generation, with whom he soon grew into 
great favor. 

46. Having nothing to do at home, and being arrived at 
that happy age when a man can be idle with impunity, he took 
his place once more on the bench at the inn-door, and was 
reverenced as one of the patriarchs of the village, and a chron- 
icle of the old times "before the war." It was some time 
before he could get into the regular track of gossip, or could 
be made to comprehend the strange events that had taken 
place during his torpor. How that there had been a revolu- 
tionary war, ^^ that the country had thrown off the yoke of 
old England, — and that, instead of being a subject of his 
Majesty' George the Third, he was now a free citizen of the 
United States. Rip, in fact, was no politician ; the changes of 
states aiid empires made but little impression on him; but 
there was one species of despotism under which he had long 
groaned, and that was — petticoat government. Happily 
that was at an end; he had got his neck out of the yoke of 
matrimony, and could go in and out whenever he pleased, 
without dreading the tyranny of Dame Van Winkle. When- 
ever her name was mentioned, however, he shook his head, 
shrugged his shoulders, and cast up his eyes; which might 
pass either for an expression of resignation to his fate, or joy 
at his deliverance. 

47. He used to tell his story to every stranger that arrived 
at Mr. Doolittle's hotel. He was observed, at first, to vary 
on some points every time he told it, which was, doubtless, 
pwipg to his having so recently awaked. It at last settled 



286 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

down precisely to the tale I have related, and not a man, 
woman, or child in the neighborhood but knew it by heart. 
Some always pretended to doubt the reality of it, and insisted 
that Rip had been out of his head, and that this was one point 
on which he always remained flighty. The old Dutch inhabit- 
ants, however, almost universally gave it full credit. Even 
to this day they never hear a thunder-storm of a summer 
afternoon about the Kaatskill, but they say Hendrick Hudson 
and his crew are at their game of ninepins; and it is a com- 
mon wish of all hen-pecked husbands in the neighborhood, 
when life hangs heavy on their hands, that they might have a 
quieting draught out of Rip Van Winkle's flagon. 

NOTE 

The foregoing Tale, one would suspect, had been suggested to Mr. 
Knickerbocker by a little German superstition about the Emperor 
Frederick der Rothhart, and the Kypphauser mountain : the subjoined 
note, however, which he had appended to the tale, shows that it is 
an absolute fact, narrated with his usual fidelity. 

"The story of Rip Van Winkle may seem incredible to many, but 
nevertheless I give it my full belief, for I know the vicinity of our old 
Dutch settlements to have been very subject to marvellous events 
and appearances. Indeed, I have heard many stranger stories than 
this, in the villages along the Hudson ; all of which were too well 
authenticated to admit of a doubt. I have even talked with^Rip Van 
Winkle myself, who, when last I saw him, was a very venerable old 
man, and so perfectly rational and consistent on every other point, 
that I think no conscientious person could refuse to take this into the 
bargain ; nay, I have seen a certificate on the subject taken before 
a country justice and signed with a cross, in the justice's own hand- 
writing. The story, therefore, is beyond the possibility of doubt. 

POSTSCRIPT 

The following are travelling notes from a memorandum-book of 
Mr. Knickerbocker. 

The Kaatsberg, or Catskill Mountains, have always been a region 
full of fable. The Indians considered them the abode of spirits, 
who influenced the weather, spreading sunshine or clouds over the 
landscapej and sending good or bad hunting-seasons. They were 
ruled by an old squaw spirit, said to be their mother. She dwelt 
on the highest peak of the Catskills, and had charge of the doors of 
day and night to open and shut them at the proper hour. She hung 
up the new moons in the skies, and cut up the old ones into stars. In 
times of drought, if properly propitiated, she would spin light summer 
clouds out of cobwebs and morning dew, and send them off from 
the crest of the mountain, flake after flake, likes flakes of carded 



RIP VAN WINKLE 287 

cotton, to float in the air ; until, dissolved by the heat of the sun, they 
would fall in gentle showers, causing the grass to spring, the fruits to 
ripen, and the corn to grow an inch an hour. If displeased, however, 
she would brew up clouds black as ink, sitting in the midst of them like 
a bottle-bellied spider in the midst of its web ; and when these clouds 
broke, woe betide the valleys ! 

In old times, say the Indian traditions, there was a kind of Manitou 
or Spirit, who kept about the wildest recesses of the Catskill Moun- 
tains, and took a mischievous pleasure in wreaking all kinds of evils 
and vexations upon the red men. Sometimes he would assume the 
form of a bear, a panther, or a deer, lead the bewildered hunter a 
weary chase through tangled forests and among ragged rocks; and 
then spring off with a loud ho ! ho ! leaving him aghast on the brink 
of a beetling precipice or raging torrent. 

The favorite abode of this Manitou is still shown. It is a great 
rock or cliff on the loneliest part of the mountains, and, from the 
flowering vines which clamber about it, and the wild flowers which 
abound in its neighborhood, is known by the name of the Garden 
Rock. Near the foot of it is a small lake, the haunt of the solitary 
bittern, with water-snakes basking in the sun on the leaves of the 
pond-lilies which lie on the surface. This place was held in great awe 
by the Indians, insomuch that the boldest hunter would not pursue 
his game within its precincts. Once upon a time, however, a hunter 
who had lost his way, penetrated to the Garden Rock, where he beheld 
a number of gourds placed in the crotches of trees. One of these he 
seized and made off with it, but in the hurry of his retreat he let it 
fall among the rocks, when a great stream gushed forth, which washed 
him away and swept him down precipices, where he was dashed to 
pieces, and the stream made its way to the Hudson, and continues 
to flow to the present day ; being the identical stream known by the 
name of Kaaters-kill. 



THE STUDY OF THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 

PRELIMINARY NOTE 

Irving says of this story, **It is a random thing suggested 
by recollections of scenes and stories about Tarrytown. The 
story is a mere whimsical band to connect descriptions of 
scenery, customs," etc. The frame-work of the story was sug- 
gested to Irving by a "waggish fiction of one Brom Bones," 
who, as the story ran, used to boast "of having once met the 
devil, on a return from some nocturnal frolic, and run a race 
with him for a bowl of milk punch." The schoolmaster was 
drawn from a living original. In 1817, after the death of his 
fiancee, Irving went to Kinderhook and spent two months with 
a friend of the family, Judge William P. Van Ness. In this 
quaint isolated village, he found Jesse Merwin and an old-fash- 
ioned school. For the rest, local traditions of the headless 
horseman and intimate knowledge from boyhood of the region 
lying between Sleepy Hollow and the Tappan Zee, furnished 
forth the author. In a few hours he scribbled off the first draft 
of his renowned story and immediately read it to his sister 
and to the brother-in-law who had given the suggestion. The 
story was written, and afterwards expanded, in England, far 
from the scenes described, but they were imprinted upon a 
faithful memory, and the printed page calls up the most vivid 
pictures of the natural features of the land of Sleepy Hollow. 

In the neighborhood of the old Dutch church in Sleepy Hol- 
low, local authorities believe that Jesse Merwin originally pre- 
sided over the sturdy little Dutch urchins that flocked to the 
log schoolhouse, with the birch tree conveniently near. They 
deny the description of Ichabod, however, and assert that the 
real schoolmaster who fled to Kinderhook, and there lived out 
his days, was stout and ruddy after the manner of his race. 

A letter received in 1851, was indorsed in Irving's own hand, 
"From Jesse Merwin, the original of Ichabod Crane." Irving's 
reply is full of interest and may be found in " Life and Letters," 
III, pp. 186-187. 

The story of the Headless Horseman is an old one and has 
taken on many forms and been localized in many different 
regions. In Germany, he is the "Wild Huntsman," who was 
originally no other than Wuotan. 

The description of Ichabod's ride suggests the ride of Tarn 
O'Shanter when his gray Meg "skelpit on through dub and 
mire, to gain the keystone of the brig, for a running stream 

288 



STUDY OF THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 289 



they dare not cross." The Scotsman crooned an auld Scot's 
sonnet; the schoolmaster whistled, or broke into a psalm tune. 
Every stone and ford, or whin, or cairn along poor Tam's path 
had its own lurking ghaist or bogie, and his beast stood right 
sair astonished, till by hand and heel admonished, she ventured 
forward. Ichabod saw no dance of the witches, but his excited 
fancy peopled the shadows along the way and turned the 
soughing of the wind^ or the rubbing of one bough upon another, 
into sighs and groans. In the end, Tam bestrode the middle 
of the stream in the very moment of greatest peril and so was 
safe; but alas, for Ichabod! the headless demon on his trail 
knew nothing of the old prohibition, and so misfortune befell 
him. D. 




HUDSON RIVER 



Map of Tabrytown 

Dark lines represent old roads (18th century). 
Light lines represent new roads (19th century). 
Dotted lines represent private roads. 

The figures denote the sites of interest as follows : — 

1. Old Manor House ( " Filypse's Castle " ). 

2. Old Grain Mill, built about 1683-4. 

3. Old Dutch Church of Sleepy Hollow. 

4. Site of Ancient Saw Mill. 

5. Site of Sleepy Hollow Schoolhouse. 

6. David's House, visited by Washington. 

7. The Andre Captors' Monument. 

8. Site of Old Mott House (Katrina Van Tassel's). 

9. Site of Couenhoven House, afterwards Martin Smith's Tavern. 

10. " Tommy " Dean's Store and other Old Houses. 

11. "Westchester County Savings Bank. 

12. Herrick's Castle. Now used as a School. 

13. Christ Church, of which Mr. Irving was a Warden. 

14. Old Martling House. 

15. Site of Paulding and Martling Houses. 
16-17. Eevolutionary Redoubts. 



290 THE SKETCH-BOOK 



The Origin of the Spell Prevailing in the Vale of 

the pocantico 

The eastern shore of Tappan Sea was inhabited in those 
days by an unsophisticated race existing in all the simplicity 
of nature ; that is to say, they lived by hunting and fishing, 
and recreated themselves occasionally with a little tomahawk- 
ing and scalping. Each stream that flows down from the 
hills into the Hudson had its petty sachem, who ruled over 
a hand-breadth of forest on either side, and had his seat of 
government at its mouth. The sachem who ruled at the Roost 
had a great passion for discussing territorial questions and 
settling boundary lines. This kept him in continual feud 
with the neighboring sachems, each of whom stood up stoutly 
for his hand-breadth of territory ; so that there is not a petty 
stream or rugged hill in the neighborhood that has not been 
the subject of long talks and hard battles. With the powerful 
sachem of 0-sin-sing the struggle was particularly long and 
bitter, but in the end the sachem of the Roost was victorious. 
He was not merely a great warrior but a medicine man, or 
prophet, or conjuror, as well, and Indian tradition has it that 
in extremity he resorted to a powerful medicine or charm by 
which he laid the sachem of Sing Sing and his warriors asleep 
among the rocks and recesses of the valleys, where they re- 
main asleep to the present day, with their bows and war clubs 
beside them. This was the origin of that potent and drowsy 
spell which still prevails over the valley of the Pocantico and 
which has gained it the well-merited appellation of Sleepy 
Hollow. Often in secluded and quiet parts of that valley, 
where the stream is over-hung by dark woods and rocks, the 
ploughman on some calm and sunny day, as he shouts to his 
oxen, is surprised at hearing faint shouts from the hillsides in 
reply; being, it is said, the spell-bound warriors, who half 
start from their rocky couches and grasp their weapons, but 
sink to sleep again. 

Condensed from Wolfert's Roost, and given as nearly as possible 
in the words of the author. H.A.D. 



SLEEPY HOLLOW 291 



The Rough Riders of Sleepy Hollow^ 

The Roost stood in the very heart of what at that time was 
called the debatable ground, lying between the British and 
American lines. The British held possession of the city and 
island of New York; while the Americans drew up towards 
the Highlands, holding their headquarters at Peekskill. The 
intervening country from Croton River to Spiting Devil 
Creek was the debatable ground in question, liable to be 
harried by friend and foe, like the Scottish borders of yore. 

It is a rugged region, full of fastnesses. A line of rocky 
hills extends through it like a backbone, sending out ribs on 
either side ; but these rude hills are for the most part richly 
wooded, and enclose little fresh pastoral valleys watered by 
the Neperan, the Pocantico, and other beautiful streams, 
along which the Indians built their wigwams in the olden 
time. 

In the fastnesses of these hills, and along these valleys, ex- 
isted in the time of which I am treating, and indeed exist to 
the present day, a race of hard-headed, hard-handed, stout- 
hearted yeomen, descendants of the primitive Nederlanders. 
Men obstinately attached to the soil, and neither to be fought 
nor bought out of their paternal acres. Most of them were 
strong Whigs throughout the war; some, however, were 
Tories, or adherents to the old kingly rule, who considered 
the revolution a mere rebellion, soon to be put down by his 
Majesty's forces. A number of these took refuge within the 
British lines, joined the miUtary bands of refugees, and 
become pioneers or leaders to foraging parties sent out from 
New York to scour the country and sweep off supplies for the 
British army. 

In a.Httle while the debatable ground became infested by 
roving bands, claiming from either side, and all pretending to 
redress wrongs and punish political offences ; but all prone in 
the exercise of their high functions — to sack hen-roosts, 
drive off cattle, and lay farmhouses under contribution ; such 
was the origin of two great orders of border chivalry, the 

1 Irving uses the phrase " Rough riders " of " Brom Bones and his 
gang " in paragraph 31. The descriptions in 26 seem reminiscent of 
the confederacy of yeomen formed in the neighborhood of the Roost 
to suppress the Skinners and the Cow Boys. 



292 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

Skinners and the Cow Boys, famous in revolutionary story: 
the former fought, or rather marauded, under the American, 
the latter, under the British banner. In the zeal of service, 
both were apt to make blunders, and confound the property 
of friend and foe. Neither of them in the heat and hurry of 
a foray had time to ascertain the politics of a horse or cow, 
which they were driving off into captivity; nor, when they 
wrung the neck of a rooster, did they trouble their heads 
whether he crowed for Congress or King George. 

To check these enormities, a confederacy was formed among 
the yeomanry who had suffered from these maraudings. It 
was composed for the most part of farmers' sons, bold, hard- 
riding lads, well armed, and well mounted, and undertook to 
clear the country round of Skinner and Cow Boy, and all 
other border vermin, as the Holy Brotherhood in old times 
cleared Spain of the banditti which infested her highways. 

Wolfert's Roost was one of the rallying places of this con- 
federacy, and Jacob Van Tassel one of its members. He was 
eminently fitted for the service ; stout of frame, bold of heart, 
and like his predecessor, the warrior sachem of yore, delight- 
ing in daring enterprises. He had an Indian's sagacity in 
discovering when the enemy was on the maraud, and in hear- 
ing the distant tramp of cattle. It seemed as if he had a 
scout on every hill, and an ear as quick as that of Fine Ear 
in the fairy tale. 

The foraging parties of Tories and refugees had now to be 
secret and sudden in their forays into Westchester County; 
to make a hasty maraud among the farms, sweep the cattle 
into a drove, and hurry down to the lines along the river road, 
or the valley of the Neperan. Before they were half-way 
down, Jacob Van Tassel, with the holy brotherhood of Tarry- 
town, Petticoat Lane, and Sleepy Hollow, would be clattering 
at their heels. And now there would be a general scamper 
for King's Bridge, the pass over Spiting Devil Creek, into the 
British lines. Sometimes the moss-troopers would be over- 
taken, and eased of part of their booty. Sometimes the 
whole cavalgada would urge its headlong course across the 
bridge with thundering tramp and dusty whirlwind. At such 
times their pursuers would rein up their steeds, survey that 
perilous pass with wary eye, and, wheeling about, indemnify 
themselves by foraging the refugee region of Morrisania. 

While the debatable land was liable to be thus harried. 



SLEEPY HOLLOW 293 

the great Tappan Sea, along which it extends, was hkewise 
domineered over by the foe. British ships of war were an- 
chored here and there in the wide expanses of the river, mere 
floating castles to hold it in subjection. Stout galleys armed 
with eighteen pounders, and navigated with sails and oars, 
cruised about like hawks, while row-boats made descents 
upon the land, and foraged the country along shore. 

It was a sore grievance to the yeomanry along the Tappan 
Sea to behold that little Mediterranean ploughed by hostile 
prows, and the noble river of which they were so proud 
reduced to a state of thraldom. Councils of war were held 
by captains of market-boats and other river-craft, to devise 
ways and means of dislodging the enemy. Here and there 
on a point of land extending into the Tappan Sea, a mud 
work would be thrown up, and an old field-piece mounted, 
with which a knot of rustic artillerymen would fire away for 
a long summer's day at some frigate dozing at anchor far out 
of reach; and reliques of such works may still be seen over- 
grown with weeds and brambles, with peradventure the half- 
buried fragment of a cannon which may have burst. 

Jacob Van Tassel was a prominent man in these belligerent 
operations ; but he was prone, moreover, to carry on a petty 
warfare of his own for his individual recreation and refresh- 
ment. On a row of hooks above the fireplace of the Roost, 
reposed his great piece of ordnance, — a duck, or rather goose- 
gun, of unparalleled longitude, with which it was said he could 
kill a wild goose half way across the Tappan Sea. Indeed, 
there are as many wonders told of this renowned gun, as of 
the enchanted weapons of classic story. When the belligerent 
feeling was strong upon Jacob, he would take down his gun, 
sally forth alone, and prowl along shore, dodging behind 
rocks and trees, watching for hours together any ship or galley 
at anchor or becalmed, as a valorous mouser will watch a 
rat-hole. So sure as a boat approached the shore, bang went 
the great goose-gun, sending on board a shower of slugs and 
buck-shots; and away scuttled Jacob Van Tassel through 
some woody ravine. As the Roost stood in a lonely situation, 
and might be attacked, he guarded against surprise by making 
loop-holes in the stone walls, through which to fire upon an 
assailant. His wife was stout-hearted as himself, and could 
load as fast as he could fire ; and his sister, Nochie Van Wur- 
mer, a redoubtable widow, was a match, as he said, for the 



294 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

stoutest man in the country. Thus garrisoned, his Httle 
castle was fitted to stand a siege, and Jacob was the man to 
defend it to the last charge of powder. 

In the process of time the Roost became one of the secret 
stations, or lurking-places, of the Water Guard. This was an 
aquatic corps in the pay of government, organized to range 
the waters of the Hudson, and keep watch upon the move- 
ments of the enemy. It was composed of nautical men of 
the river, and hardy youngsters of the adjacent country, 
expert at pulling an oar or handling a musket. They were 
provided with whale-boats, long and sharp, shaped like 
canoes, and formed to lie lightly on the water, and be rowed 
with great rapidity. In these they would lurk out of sight 
by day, in nooks and bays, and behind points of land, keep- 
ing a sharp look-out upon the British ships, and giving in- 
telligence to head-quarters of any extraordinary movement. 
At night they rowed about in pairs, pulling quietl)'' along with 
muffled oars, under shadow of the land, or gliding hke spectres 
about frigates and guard-ships to cut off any boat that might 
be sent to shore. In this way they were a source of constant 
uneasiness and alarm to the enemy. 

— Wolfert's Roost, pp. 13-18. 

Sleepy Hollow Revisited 

But I have said enough of the good old times of my youth- 
ful days; let me speak of the Hollow as I found it, after an 
absence of many years, when it was kindly given me once 
more to revisit the haunts of my boyhood. It .was a genial 
day as I approached that fated region. The warm sunshine 
was tempered by a slight haze, so as to give a dreamy effect 
to the landscape. Not a breath of air shook the foliage. 
The broad Tappan Sea was without a ripple, and the sloops, 
with drooping sails, slept on its glassy bosom. Columns of 
smoke, from burning brushwood, rose lazily from the folds 
of the hills, on the opposite side of the river, and slowly ex- 
panded in mid-air. The distant lowing of a cow, or the noon- 
tide crowing of a cock, coming faintly to the ear, seemed to 
illustrate, rather than disturb, the drowsy quiet of the scene. 

I entered the Hollow with a beating heart. Contrary to 
my apprehensions, I found it but little changed. The march 
of intellect, which had made such rapid strides along every 



SLEEPY HOLLOW 295 

river and highway, had not yet, apparently, turned down 
into this favored valley. Perhaps the wizard spell of ancient 
days still reigned over the place, binding up the faculties of 
the inhabitants in happy contentment with things as they 
had been handed down to them from yore. There were the 
same little farms and farm-houses, with their old hats for the 
housekeeping wren ; their stone wells, moss-covered buckets, 
and long balancing-poles. There were the same httle rills, 
whimpering down to pay their tributes to the Pocantico; 
while that wizard stream still kept on its course, as of old, 
through solemn woodlands and fresh green meadows; nor 
were there wanting joyous holiday boys, to loiter along its 
banks, as I had done; throw their pin-hooks in the stream, 
or launch their mimic barks. I watched them with a kind of 
melancholy pleasure, wondering whether they were under the 
same spell of the fancy that once rendered this valley a fairy 
land to me. Alas! alas! to me everything now stood 
revealed in its simple reality. The echoes no longer answered 
with wizard tongues; the dream of youth was at an end; 
the spell of Sleepy Hollow was broken ! 

— Biographies and Miscellanies, pp. 434-435. 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 

FOUND AMONG THE PAPERS OF THE LATE DIEDRICH 
KNICKERBOCKER 

A pleasing land of drowsy head it was, 

Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye, 

And of gay castles in the clouds that pass, 
For ever flushing round a summer sky. 

— Castle of Indolence. 

1. In the bosom of one of those spacious coves which indent 
the eastern shore of the Hudson, at that broad expansion of 
the river denominated by the ancient Dutch navigators the 
Tappan Zee, and where they always prudently shortened 
sail, and implored the protection of St. Nicholas when they 
crossed, there lies a small market-town or rural port, which 
by some is called Greensburgh, but which is more generally 
and properly known by the name of Tarry Town. This name 
was given, we are told, in former days, by the good house- 
wives of the adjacent country, from the inveterate propensity 
of their husbands to linger about the village tavern on market- 
days. Be that as it may, I do not vouch for the fact, but 
merely advert to it for the sake of being precise and authen- 
tic. Not far from this village, perhaps about two miles, 
there is a little valley, or rather lap of land, among high hills, 
which is one of the quietest places in the whole world. A 
small brook glides through it, with just murmur enough to lull 
one to repose ; and the occasional whistle of a quail, or tapping 
of a woodpecker, is almost the only sound that ever breaks 
in upon the uniform tranquillity. 

2. I recollect that, when a stripling, my first exploit in 
squirrel-shooting was in a grove of tall walnut-trees that 
shades one side of the valley. I had wandered into it at noon- 
time, when all nature is peculiarly quiet, and was startled by 
the roar of my own gun, as it broke the Sabbath stillness 
around, and was prolonged and reverberated by the angry 
echoes. If ever I should wish for a retreat, whither I might 

296 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 



297 



steal from the world and its distractions, and dream quietly 
awa,y the remnant of a troubled life, I know of none more 
promising than this httle valley. 




Tappan Zee and the Sleepy Hollow Church 

3. From the listless repose of the place, and the peculiar 
character of its inhabitants, who are descendants from the 
original Dutch settlers, this sequestered glen has long been 



298 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

known by the name of Sleepy Hollow, and its rustic lads 
are called the Sleepy Hollow Boys throughout all the neigh- 
boring country. A drowsy, dreamy influence seems to hang 
over the land, and to pervade the very atmosphere. Some 
say that the place was bewitched by a high German doctor, 
during the early days of the settlement ; others, that an old 
Indian chief, the prophet or wizard of his tribe, held his pow- 
wows there before the country was discovered by Master 
Hendrich Hudson. Certain it is, the place still continues 
under the sway of some witching power, that holds a spell 
over the minds of the good people, causing them to walk 
in a continual reverie. They are given to all kinds of 
marvellous behefs; are subject to trances and visions; and 
frequently see strange sights, and hear music and voices in 
the air. The whole neighborhood abounds with local tales, 
haunted spots, and twilight superstitions; stars shoot and 
meteors glare oftener across the valley than in any other part 
of the country, and the nightmare, with her whole ninefold, 
seems to make it the favorite scene of her gambols. 

4. The dominant spirit, however, that haunts this en- 
chanted region, and seems to be commander-in-chief of all 
the powers of the air, is the apparition of a figure on horseback 
without a head. It is said by some to be the ghost of a Hes- 
sian trooper, whose head had been carried away by a cannon- 
ball, in some nameless battle during the Revolutionary War, 
and who is ever and anon seen by the country folk, hurrying 
along in the gloom of night, as if on the wings of the wind. 
His haunts are not confined to the valley, but extend at times 
to the adjacent roads, and especially to the vicinity of a church 
at no great distance. Indeed certain of the most authentic 
historians of those parts, who have been careful in collecting 
and collating the floating facts concerning this spectre, allege 
that the body of the trooper, having been buried in the church- 
yard, the ghost rides forth to the scene of battle in nightly 
quest of his head ; and that the rushing speed with which he 
sometimes passes along the Hollow, like a midnight blast, is 
owing to his being belated, and in a hurry to get back to the 
churchyard before day-break. 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 299 

5. Such is the general purport of this legendary super- 
stition, which has furnished materials for many a wild story 
in that region of shadows ; and the spectre is known, at all 
the country firesides, by the name of the Headless Horseman 
of Sleepy Hollow. 

6. It is remarkable that the visionary propensity I have 
mentioned is not confined to the native inhabitants of the 
valley, but is unconsciously imbibed by every one who resides 
there for a time. However wide awake they may have been 
before they entered that sleepy region, they are sure, in a 
little time, to inhale the witching influence of the air, and 
begin to grow imaginative, to dream dreams, and see appari- 
tions. 

7. I mention this peaceful spot with all possible laud ; for 
it is in such little retired Dutch valleys, found here and there 
embosomed in the great State of New York, that population, 
manners, and customs remain fixed ; while the great torrent 
of migration and improvement, which is making such inces- 
sant changes in other parts of this restless country, sweeps by 
them unobserved. They are like those little nooks of still 
water which border a rapid stream; where we may see the 
straw and bubble riding quietly at anchor, or slowly revolving 
in their mimic harbor, undisturbed by the rush of the passing 
current. Though many years have elapsed since I trod the 
drowsy shades of Sleepy Hollow, yet I question whether I 
should not still find the same trees and the same families 
vegetating in its sheltered bosom. 

8. In this by-place of nature, there abode, in a remote 
period of American history, that is to say, some thirty years 
since, a worthy wight of the name of Ichabod Crane; who 
sojourned, or, as he expressed it, '' tarried, '^ in Sleepy Hol- 
low, for the purpose of instructing the children of the vicinity. 
He was a native of Connecticut, a State which supplies the 
Union with pioneers for the mind as well as for the forest, and 
sends forth yearly its legions of frontier woodsmen and country 
school-masters. The cognomen of Crane was not inapplicable 
to his person. He was tall, but exceedingly lank, with narrow 
shoulders, long arms and legs, hands that dangled a mile out 



300 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

of his sleeves, feet that might have served for shovels, and 
his whole frame most loosely hung together. His head was 
small, and flat at top, with huge ears, large green glassy 
eyes, and a long snipe nose, so that it looked like a weather- 
cock perched upon his spindle neck, to tell which way the 
wind blew. To see him striding along the profile of a hill on 
a windy day, with his clothes bagging and fluttering about 
him, one might have mistaken him for the genius of famine 
descending upon the earth, or some scarecrow eloped from a 
cornfield. 

9. His school-house was a low building of one large room, 
rudely constructed of logs; the windows partly glazed, and 
partly patched with leaves of old copy-books. It was most 
ingeniously secured at vacant hours by a withe twisted in the 
handle of the door, and stakes set against the window-shutters ; 
so that, though a thief might get in with perfect ease, he would 
find some embarrassment in getting out : an idea most prob- 
ably borrowed by the architect, Yost Van Houten, from the 
mystery of an eel-pot. The school-house stood in a rather 
lonely but pleasant situation, just at the foot of a woody hill, 
with a brook running close by, and a formidable birch-tree 
growing at one end of it. From hence the low murmur of his 
pupils' voices, conning over their lessons, might be heard in a 
drowsy summer's day, like the hum of a beehive ; interrupted 
now and then by the authoritative voice of the master, in 
the tone of menace or command; or, peradventure, by the 
appalling sound of the birch, as he urged some tardy loiterer 
along the flowery path of knowledge. Truth to say, he was 
a conscientious man, and ever bore in mind the golden maxim, 
"Spare the rod and spoil the child.'' — Ichabod Crane's 
scholars certainly were not spoiled. 

10. I would not have it imagined, however, that he was 
one of those cruel potentates of the school, who joy in the 
smart of their subjects; on the contrary, he adminstered jus- 
tice with discrimination rather than severity, taking the bur- 
den off the backs of the weak, and laying it on those of the 
strong. Your mere puny stripling, that winced at the least 
flourish of the rod, was passed by with indulgence ; but the 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 



301 



claims of justice were satisfied by inflicting a double portion 
on some little, tough, wrong-headed, broad-skirted Dutch 
urchin, who sulked and swelled and grew dogged and sullen 
beneath the birch. All this he called "doing his duty" by 
their parents ; and he never inflicted a chastisement without 
following it by the assurance, so consolatory to the smarting 
urchin, that "he would remember it, and thank him for it 
the longest day he had to live." 




The Sleepy Hollow School 
From the engraving by Charles O. Murray 



11. When school-hours were over, he was even the com- 
panion and playmate of the larger boys ; and on holiday after- 
noons would convoy some of the smaller ones home, who hap- 
pened to have pretty sisters, or good housewives for mothers, 
noted for the comforts of the cupboard. Indeed it behooved 
him to keep on good terms with his pupils. The revenue aris- 
ing from his school was small, and would have been scarcely 
sufficient to furnish him with daily bread, for he was a huge 
feeder, and, though lank, had the dilating powers of an ana- 
conda; but to help out his maintenance, he was, according 
to country custom in those parts, boarded and lodged at the 



302 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

houses of the farmers, whose children he instructed. With 
these he hved successively a week at a time ; thus going the 
rounds of the neighborhood, with all his worldly effects tied 
up in a cotton handkerchief. 

12. That all this might not be too onerous on the purses 
of his rustic patrons, who are apt to consider the costs of 
schooling a grievous burden, and schoolmasters as mere 
drones, he had various way of rendering himself both useful 
and agreeable. He assisted the farmers occasionally in the 
lighter labors of their farms ; helped to make hay ; mended the 
fences ; took the horses to water ; drove the cows from pas- 
ture; and cut wood for the winter fire. He laid aside, too, 
all the dominant dignity and absolute sway with which he 
lorded it in his little empire, the school, and became wonder- 
fully gentle and ingratiating. He found favor in the eyes of 
the mothers, by petting the children, particularly the 
youngest ; and like the lion bold, which whilom so magnani- 
mously the lamb did hold, he would sit with a child on one 
knee, and rock a cradle with his foot for whole hours together. 

13. In addition to his other vocations, he was the singing- 
master of the neighborhood, and picked up many bright 
shillings by instructing the young folks in psalmody. It was 
a matter of no little vanity to him, on Sundays, to take his 
station in front of the church-gallery, with a band of chosen 
singers ; where, in his own mind, he completely carried away the 
palm from the parson. Certain it is, his voice resounded far 
above all the rest of the congregation ; and there are peculiar 
quavers still to be heard in that church, and which may 
even be heard half a mile off, quite to the opposite side of the 
mill-pond, on a still Sunday morning, which are said to be legiti- 
mately descended from the nose of Ichabod Crane. Thus, by 
divers little makeshifts in that ingenious way which is com- 
monly denominated "by hook and by crook," the worthy 
pedagogue got on tolerably enough, and was thought, by all 
who understood nothing of the labor of headwork, to have 
a wonderfully easy life of it. 

14. The schoolmaster is generally a man of some impor- 
tance in the female circle of a rural neighborhood ; being con- 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 303 

sidered a kind of idle, gentleman-like personage, of vastly 
superior taste and accomplishments to the rough country- 
swains, and, indeed, inferior in learning only to the parson. 
His appearance, therefore, is apt to occasion some little stir 
at the tea-table of a farm-house, and the addition of a super- 
numerary dish of cakes or sweet meats, or, peradventure, the 
parade of a silver teapot. Our man of letters, therefore, was 
peculiarly happy in the smiles of all the country damsels. 
How he would figure among them in the churchyard, be- 
tween services on Sundays ! gathering grapes for them from 
the wild vines that overrun the surrounding trees; reciting 
for their amusement all the epitaphs on the tombstones; or 
sauntering, with a whole bevy of them, along the banks of the 
adjacent mill-pond ; while the more bashful country bumpkins 
hung sheepishly back, envying his superior elegance and 
address. 

15. From his half itinerant life, also, he was a kind of 
travelling gazette, carrying the whole budget of local gossip 
from house to house : so that his appearance was always 
greeted with satisfaction. He was, moreover, esteemed by the 
women as a man of great erudition, for he had read several 
books quite through, and was a perfect master of Cotton 
Mather's "History of New England Witchcraft,'' in which, by 
the way, he most firmly and potently believed. 

16. He was, in fact, an odd mixture of small shrewdness 
and simple credulity. His appetite for the marvellous, and 
his powers of digesting it, were equally extraordinary; and 
both had been increased by his residence in this spellbound re-, 
gion. No tale was too gross or monstrous for his capacious swal- 
low. It was often his delight, after his school was dismissed 
in the afternoon, to stretch himself on the rich bed of clover 
bordering the little brook that whimpered by his school-house, 
and there con over old Mather's direful tales, until the gather- 
ing dusk of the evening made the printed page a mere mist 
before his eyes. Then, as he wended his way, by swamp and 
stream, and awful woodland, to the farm-house where he 
happened to be quartered, every sound of nature, at that 
witching hour, fluttered his excited imagination; the moan 



304 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

of the whipoorpwill ^ from the hill-side ; the boding cry of the 
tree-toad, that harbinger of storm ; the dreary hooting of the 
screech-owl, or the sudden rustling in the thicket of birds 
frightened from their roost. The fire-flies, too, which sparkled 
most vividly in the darkest places, now and then startled him, 
as one of uncommon brightness would stream across his path ; 
and if, by chance, a huge blockhead of a beetle came winging 
his blundering flight against him, the poor varlet was ready 
to give up the ghost, with the idea that he was struck with a 
witch's token. His only resource on such occasions, either 
to drown thought or drive away evil spirits, was to sing 
psalm-tunes ; and the good people of Sleepy Hollow, as they 
sat by their doors of an evening, were often filled with awe, 
at hearing his nasal melody, "in linked sweetness long drawn 
out," floating from the distant hill, or along the dusky road. 

17. Another of his sources of fearful pleasure was, to pass 
long winter evenings with the old Dutch wives, as they sat 
spinning by the fire, with a row of apples roasting and splut- 
tering along the hearth and listen to their marvellous tales of 
ghosts and goblins, and haunted fields, and haunted brooks, 
and haunted bridges, and haunted houses, and particularly 
of the headless horseman, or Galloping Hessian of the Hollow, 
as they sometimes called him. He would delight them equally 
by his anecdotes of witchcraft, and of the direful omens and 
portentous sights and sounds in the air, which prevailed in 
the earlier times of Connecticut; and would frighten them 
wofuUy with speculations upon comets and shooting stars, 
and with the alarming fact that the world did absolutely 
turn round, and that they were half the time topsy-turvy! 

18. But if there was a pleasure in all this, while snugly 
cuddling in the chimney-corner of a chamber that was all of 
a ruddy glow from the crackling wood-fire, and where, of 
course, no spectre dared to show his face, it was dearly pur- 
chased by the terrors of his subsequent walk homewards. 
What fearful shapes and shadows beset his path amidst the 

^ The whippoorwill is a bird which is only heard at night. It re- 
ceives its name from its note, which is thought to resemble those 
words. 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 305 

dim and ghastly glare of a snowy night ! — With what wistful 
look did he eye every trembling ray of light streaming across 
the waste fields from some distant window ! — How often 
was he appalled by some shrub covered with snow, which, like 
a sheeted spectre, beset his very path ! — How often did he 
shrink with curdling awe at the sound of his own steps on the 
frosty crust beneath his feet; and dread to look over his 
shoulder, lest he should behold some uncouth being tramping 
close behind him ! — and how often was he thrown into com- 
plete dismay by some rushing blast, howling among the trees, 
in the idea that it was the Galloping Hessian on one of his 
nightly scourings ! 

19. All these, however, were mere terrors of the night, 
phantoms of the mind that walk in darkness; and though 
he had seen many spectres in his time, and been more than 
once beset by Satan in divers shapes, in his lonely perambu- 
lations, yet daylight put an end to all these evils; and he 
would have passed a pleasant life of it, in despite of the devil 
and all his works, if his path had not been crossed by a being 
that causes more perplexity to mortal man than ghosts, 
goblins, and the whole race of witches put together, and that 
was — a woman. 

20. Among the musical disciples who assembled, one even- 
ing in each week, to receive his instructions in psalmody, 
was Katrina Van Tassel, the daughter and only child of a 
substantial Dutch farmer. She was a blooming lass of fresh 
eighteen ; plump as a partridge ; ripe and melting and rosy- 
cheeked as one of her father's peaches, and universally famed, 
not merely for her beauty, but her vast expectations. She 
was withal a little of a coquette, as might be perceived even 
in her dress, which was a mixture of ancient and modern 
fashions, as most suited to set off her charms. She wore the 
ornaments of pure yellow gold, which her great-great-grand- 
mother had brought over from Saardam; the tempting 
stomacher of the olden time ; and withal a provokingly short 
petticoat, to display the prettiest foot and ankle in the country 
round. 

21. Ichabod Crane had a soft and foolish heart towards the 



306 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

sex ; and it is not to be wondered at that so tempting a morsel 
soon found favor in his eyes; more especially after he had 
visited her in her paternal mansion. Old Baltus Van Tassel 
was a perfect picture of a thriving, contented, liberal-hearted 
farmer. He seldom, it is true, sent either his eyes or his 
thoughts beyond the boundaries of his own farm ; but within 
those everything was snug, happy, and well-conditioned. 
He was satisfied with his wealth, but not proud of it; and 
piqued himself upon the hearty abundance rather than the 
style in which he lived. His stronghold was situated on the 
banks of the Hudson, in one of those green, sheltered, fertile 
nooks in which the Dutch farmers are so fond of nestling. 
A great elm-tree spread its broad branches over it; at the 
foot of which bubbled up a spring of the softest and sweetest 
water, in a little well, formed of a barrel; and then stole 
sparkling away through the grass, to a neighboring brook, 
that bubbled along among alders and dwarf willows. Hard by 
the farm-house was a vast barn, that might have served for a 
church ; every window and crevice of which seemed bursting 
forth with the treasures of the farm ; the flail was busily re- 
sounding within it from morning till night; swallows and 
martins skimmed twittering about the eaves; and rows of 
pigeons, some with one eye turned up, as if watching, the 
weather, some with their heads under their wings, or buried 
in their bosoms, and others swelling, and cooing, and bowing 
about their dames, were enjoying the sunshine on the roof. 
Sleek unwieldy porkers were grunting in the repose and 
abundance of their pens ; whence sallied forth, now and then, 
troops of sucking pigs, as if to snuff the air. A stately squad- 
ron of snowy geese were riding in an adjoining pond, con- 
voying whole fleets of ducks; regiments of turkeys were 
gobbling through the farm-yard, and guinea fowls fretting 
about it, like ill-tempered housewives, with their peevish dis- 
contented cry. Before the barn-door strutted the gallant cock, 
that pattern of a husband, a warrior, and a fine gentleman, 
clapping his burnished wings, and crowing in the pride and 
gladness of his heart — sometimes tearing up the earth with 
his feet, and then generously calling his ever-hungry family 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 



307 



of wives and children to enjoy the rich morsel which he had 
discovered. 




ICHABOD AND KATRINA 

From the engraving by C. K. Leslie 



22. The pedagogue's mouth watered, as he looked upon 
this sumptuous promise of luxurious winter fare. In his 
devouring mind's eye he pictured to himself every roasting- 
pig running about with a pudding in his belly, and an apple 
in his mouth, the pigeons were snugly put to bed in a comfort- 



o 



08 THE SKETCH-BOOK 



able pie, and tucked in with a coverlet of crust ; the geese were 
swimming in their own gravy; and the ducks pairing cosily 
in dishes, like snug married couples, with a decent competency 
of onion-sauce. In the porkers he saw carved out the future 
sleek side of bacon, and juicy relishing ham; not a turkey 
but he beheld daintily trussed up, with its gizzard under its 
wing, and, peradventure, a necklace of savory sausages ; and 
even bright chanticleer himself lay sprawling on his back, in 
a side-dish, with uplifted claws, as if craving that quarter 
which his chivalrous spirit disdained to ask while living. 

23. As the enraptured Ichabod fancied all this, and as he 
rolled his great green eyes over the fat meadow-lands, the 
rich fields of wheat, of rye, of buckwheat, and Indian corn, 
and the orchard burdened with ruddy fruit, which surrounded 
the warm tenement of Van Tassel, his heart yearned after the 
damsel who was to inherit these domains, and his imagination 
expanded with the idea how they might be readily turned into 
cash, and the money invested in immense tracts of wild land, 
and shingle palaces in the wilderness. Nay, his busy fancy 
already realized his hopes, and presented to him the blooming 
Katrina, with a whole family of children, mounted on the top 
of a wagon loaded with household trumpery, with pots and 
kettles dangling beneath; and he beheld himself bestriding 
a pacing mare, with a colt at her heels, setting out for Ken- 
tucky, Tennessee, or the Lord knows where. 

24. When he entered the house, the conquest of his heart 
was complete. It was one of those spacious farm-houses, 
with high-ridged, but lowly-sloping roofs, built in the style 
handed down from the first Dutch settlers ; the low projecting 
eaves forming a piazza along the front, capable of being closed 
up in bad weather. Under this were hung flails, harness, vari- 
ous utensils of husbandry, and nets for fishing in the neigh- 
boring river. Benches were built along the sides for summer 
use; and a great spinning-wheel at one end, and a churn at 
the other, showed the various uses to which this important 
porch might be devoted. From this piazza the wondering 
Ichabod entered the hall, which formed the centre of the 
mansion and the place of usual residence. Here, rows of 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 309 

resplendent pewter, ranged on a long dresser, dazzled his 
eyes. In one corner stood a huge bag of wool ready to be 
spun; in another a quantity of linsey-woolsey just from the 
loom; ears of Indian corn, and strings of dried apples and 
peaches, hung in gay festoons along the walls, mingled with 
the gaud of red peppers ; and a door left ajar gave him a peep 
into the best parlor, where the claw-footed chairs and dark 
mahogany tables shone like mirrors; and irons, with their 
accompanying shovel and tongs, glistened from their covert 
of asparagus tops; mock-oranges and conchshells decorated 
the mantel-piece; strings of various colored birds' eggs were 
suspended above it, a great ostrich egg was hung from the 
centre of the room, and a corner-cupboard, knowingly left 
open, displayed immense treasures of old silver and well- 
mended china. 

25. From the moment Ichabod laid his eyes upon these 
regions of delight, the peace of his mind was at an end, and his 
only study was how to gain the affections of the peerless 
daughter of Van Tassel. In this enterprise, however, he had 
more real difficulties than generally fell to the lot of a knight- 
errant of yore, who seldom had anything but giants, enchan- 
ters, fiery dragons, and such like easily conquered adversaries, 
to contend with ; and had to make his way merely through 
gates of iron and brass, and walls of adamant, to the castle- 
keep, where the lady of his heart was confined ; all which he 
achieved as easily as a man would carve his way to the centre 
of a Christmas pie ; and then the lady gave him her hand as 
a matter of course. Ichabod, on the contrary, had to win 
his way to the heart of a country coquette, beset with a laby- 
rinth of whims and caprices, which were forever presenting 
new difficulties and impediments; and he had to encounter 
a host of fearful adversaries of real flesh and blood, the nu- 
merous rustic admirers, who beset every portal to her heart ; 
keeping a watchful and angry eye upon each other, but 
ready to fly out in the common cause against any new 
competitor. 

26. Among these the most formidable was a burly, roaring, 
roistering blade, of the name of Abraham, or, according to the 



310 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

Dutch abbreviation, Brom Van Brunt, the hero of the country 
round, which rang with his feats of strength and hardihood. 
He was broad-shouldered, and double-jointed, with short 
curly black hair, and a bluff but not unpleasant countenance 
having a mingled air of fun and arrogance. From his Her- 
culean frame and great powers of limb, he had received the 
nickname of Brom Bones, by which he was universally 
known. He was famed for great knowledge and skill in 
horsemanship, being as dexterous on horseback as a Tartar. 
He was foremost at all races and cockfights; and, with the 
ascendency which bodily strength acquires in rustic life, 
was the umpire in all disputes, setting his hat on one side, 
and giving his decisions with an air and tone admitting of no 
gainsay or appeal. He was always ready for either a fight or 
a frolic ; but had more mischief than ill-will in his composition ; 
and, with all his overbearing roughness, there was a strong 
dash of waggish good-humor at bottom. He had three or 
four boon companions, who regarded him as their model, and 
at the head of whom he scoured the country, attending every 
scene of feud or merriment for miles round. In cold weather 
he was distinguished by a fur cap, surmounted with a flaunt- 
ing fox's tail; and when the folks at a country gathering 
descried this well-known crest at a distance, whisking about 
among a squad of hard riders, they always stood by for a 
squall. Sometimes his crew would be heard dashing along 
past the farm-houses at midnight, with whoop and halloo, 
like a troop of Don Cossacks; and the old dames, startled 
out of their sleep, would listen for a moment till the hurry- 
scurry had clattered by, and then exclaim, "Ay, there goes 
Brom Bones and his gang ! " The neighbors looked upon him 
with a mixture of awe, admiration, and good-will ; and when 
any madcap prank, or rustic brawl, occurred in the vicinity, 
always shook their heads, and warranted Brom Bones was at 
the bottom of it. 

27. This rantipole hero had for some time singled out the 
blooming Katrina for the object of his uncouth gallantries; 
and though his amorous toyings were something like the gentle 
caresses and endearments of a bear, yet it was whispered that 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 311 

she did not altogether discourage his hopes. Certain it is, 
his advances were signals for rival candidates to retire, who 
felt no inclination to cross a lion in his amours; insomuch, 
that, when his horse was seen tied to Van Tassel's paling one 
Sunday night, a sure sign that his master was courting, or, 
as it is termed, "sparking," within, all other suitors passed 
by in despair, and carried the war into other quarters. 

28. Such was the formidable rival with whom Ichabod 
Crane had to contend, and, considering all things, a stouter 
man than he would have shrunk from the competition, and 
a wiser man would have despaired. He had, however, a 
happy mixture of pliability and perseverance in his nature; 
he was in form and spirit like a supple-jack — yielding, but 
tough; though he bent, he never broke; and though he 
bowed beneath the slightest pressure, yet, the moment it was 
away — jerk ! he was as erect, and carried his head as high 
as ever. 

29. To have taken the field openly against his rival would 
have been madness ; for he was not a man to be thwarted 
in his amours, any more than that stormy lover, Achilles. 
Ichabod, therefore, made his advances in a quiet and gently 
insinuating manner. Under cover of his character of sing- 
ing-master, he had made frequent visits at the farm-house; 
not that he had anything to apprehend from the meddlesome 
interference of parents, which is so often a stumbling-block in 
the path of lovers. Bait Van Tassel was an easy, indulgent 
soul; he loved his daughter better even than his pipe, and, 
like a reasonable man and an excellent father, let her have her 
way in everything. His notable little wife, too, had enough 
to do to attend to her housekeeping and manage her poultry ; 
for, as she sagely observed, ducks and geese are foolish things, 
and must be looked after, but girls can take care of themselves. 
Thus while the busy dame bustled about the house, or plied 
her spinning-wheel at one end of the piazza, honest Bait 
would sit smoking his evening pipe at the other, watching the 
achievements of a little wooden warrior, who, armed with a 
sword in each hand, was most valiantly fighting the wind on 
the pinnacle of the barn. In the meantime, Ichabod would 



312 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

carry on his suit with the daughter by the side of the spring 
under the great elm, or sauntering along in the twilight, — 
that hour so favorable to the lover's eloquence. 

30. I profess not to know how women's hearts are wooed 
and won. To me they have always been matters of riddle 
and admiration. Some seem to have but one vulnerable point, 
or door of access, while others have a thousand avenues, and 
may be captured in a thousand different ways. It is a great 
triumph of skill to gain the former, but a still greater proof 
of generalship to maintain possession of the latter, for the 
man must battle for his fortress at every door and window. 
He who wins a thousand common hearts is therefore entitled 
to some renown ; but he who keeps undisputed sway over the 
heart of a coquette, is indeed a hero. Certain it is, this was 
not the case with the redoubtable Brom Bones: and from 
the moment Ichabod Crane made his advances, the interests 
of the former evidently declined; his horse was no longer 
seen tied at the palings on Sunday nights, and a deadly feud 
gradually arose between him and the preceptor of Sleepy 
Hollow. 

31. Brom, who had a degree of rough chivalry in his nature, 
would fain have carried matters to open warfare, and have 
settled their pretensions to the lady according to the mode 
of those most concise and simple reasoners, the knights-errant 
of yore — by single combat ; but Ichabod was too conscious 
of the superior might of his adversary to enter the lists against 
him : he had overheard a boast of Bones, that he would 
"double the schoolmaster up, and lay him on a shelf of his 
own school-house;" and he was too wary to give him an 
opportunity. There was something extremely provoking in 
this obstinately pacific system; it left Brom no alternative 
but to draw upon the funds of rustic waggery in his disposi- 
tion, and to play off boorish practical jokes upon his rival. 
Ichabod became the object of whimsical persecution to Bones 
and his gang of rough riders. They harried his hitherto 
peaceful domains ; smoked out his singing-school, by stopping 
up the chimney ; broke into the school-house at night, in spite 
of its formidable fastenings of withe and window-stakes, and 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 313 

turned everything topsy-turvy: so that the poor school- 
master began to think all the witches in the country held their 
meetings there. But what was still more annoying, Brom 
took opportunities of turning him into ridicule in presence of 
his mistress, and had a scoundrel dog whom he taught to 
whine in the most ludicrous manner, and introduced as a rival 
of Ichabod's to instruct her in psalmody. 

32. In this way matters went on for some time, without 
producing any material effect on the relative situation of the 
contending powers. On a fine autumnal afternoon, Ichabod, 
in pensive mood, sat enthroned on the lofty stool whence he 
usually watched all the concerns of his little literary realm. 
In his hand he swayed a ferule, that sceptre of despotic power ; 
the birch of justice reposed on three nails, behind the throne, 
a constant terror to evil-doers; while on the desk before 
him might be seen sundry contraband articles and prohibited 
weapons, detected upon the persons of idle urchins ; such as 
half munched apples, popguns, whirligigs, fly-cages, and whole 
legions of rampant little paper gamecocks. Apparently 
there had been some appalling act of justice recently inflicted, 
for his scholars were all busily intent upon their books, or 
slyly whispering behind them with one eye kept upon the 
master; and a kind of buzzing stillness reigned throughout 
the school-room. It was suddenly interrupted by the ap- 
pearance of a negro, in tow-cloth jacket and trousers, a round- 
crowned fragment of a hat, like the cap of Mercury, and 
mounted on the back of a ragged, wild, half-broken colt, 
which he managed with a rope by way of halter. He came 
clattering up to the school-door with an invitation to Ichabod 
to attend a merry-making or "quilting frolic," to be held that 
evening at Mynheer Van TasseFs; and having delivered his 
message with that air of importance, and effort at fine lan- 
guage, which a negro is apt to display on petty embassies 
of the kind, he dashed over the brook, and was. seen scamper- 
ing away up the Hollow, full of the importance and hurry of 
his mission. 

33. All was now bustle and hubbub in the late quiet school- 
room. The scholars were hurried through their lessons, with- 



314 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

out stopping at trifles; those who were nimble skipped over 
half with impunity, and those who were tardy had a smart 
application now and then in the rear, to quicken their speed, 
or help them over a tall word. Books were flung aside with- 
out being put away on the shelves, inkstands were over- 
turned, benches thrown down, and the whole school was 
turned loose an hour before the usual time, bursting forth like 
a legion of young imps, yelping and racketing about the green, 
in joy at their early emancipation. 

34. The gallant Ichabod now spent at least an extra half- 
hour at his toilet, brushing and furbishing up his best and 
indeed only suit of rusty black, and arranging his locks by 
a bit of broken looking-glass, that hung up in the school- 
house. That he might make his appearance before his mis- 
tress in the true style of a cavalier, he borrowed a horse from 
the farmer with whom he was domiciliated, a choleric old 
Dutchman, of the name of Hans Van Ripper, and, thus gal- 
lantly mounted, issued forth, like a knight-errant in quest of 
adventures. But it is meet I should, in the true spirit of 
romantic story, give some account of the looks and equip- 
ments of my hero and his steed. The animal he bestrode was 
a broken-down plough-horse, that had outlived almost every- 
thing but his viciousness. He was gaunt and shagged, with a 
ewe neck and a head like a hammer ; his rusty mane and tail 
were tangled and knotted with burrs; one eye had lost its 
pupil, and was glaring and spectral; but the other had the 
gleam of a genuine devil in it. Still he must have had fire 
and mettle in his day, if we may judge from the name he bore 
of Gunpowder. He had, in fact, been a favorite steed of his 
master's, the choleric Van Ripper, who was a furious rider, and 
had infused, very probably, some of his own spirit into the 
animal; for, old and broken-down as he looked, there was 
more of the lurking devil in him than in any young filly in the 
country. 

35. Ichabod was a suitable figure for such a steed. He 
rode with short stirrups, which brought his knees nearly up to 
the pommel of the saddle; his sharp elbows stuck out like 
grasshoppers'; he carried his whip perpendicularly in his 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 315 

hand, like a sceptre, and, as his horse jogged on, the motion of 
his arms was not unlike the flapping of a pair of wings. A 
small wool hat rested on the top of his nose, for so his scanty 
strip of forehead might be called ; and the skirts of his black 
coat fluttered out almost to the horse's tail. Such was the ap- 
pearance of Ichabod and his steed, as they shambled out of 
the gate of Hans Van Ripper, and it was altogether such an 
apparition as is seldom to be met with in broad daylight. 

36. It was, as I have said, a fine autumnal day, the sky 
was clear and serene, and nature wore that rich and golden 
livery which we always associate with the idea of abundance. 
The forests had put on their sober brown and yellow, while 
some trees of the tenderer kind had been nipped by the frosts 
into brilliant dyes of orange, purple, and scarlet. Streaming 
files of wild ducks began to make their appearance high in the 
air ; the bark of the squirrel might be heard from the groves 
of beech and hickory nuts, and the pensive whistle of the quail 
at intervals from the neighboring stubblefield. 

37. The small birds were taking their farewell banquets. 
In the fullness of their revelry, they fluttered, chirping and 
frolicking, from bush to bush, and tree to tree, capricious from 
the very profusion and variety around them. There was the 
honest cockrobin, the favorite game of stripling sportsmen, 
with its loud querulous notes ; and the twittering blackbirds 
flying in sable clouds; and the golden-winged woodpecker, 
with his crimson crest, his broad black gorget, and splendid 
plumage; and the cedar-bird, with its red-tipt wings and 
yellow-tipt tail, and its little monteiro cap of feathers ; and 
the blue jay, that noisy coxcomb, in his gay light-blue coat 
and white under-clothes, screaming and chattering, nodding 
and bobbing and bowing, and pretending to be on good terms 
with every songster of the grove. 

38. As Ichabod jogged slowly on his way, his eye, ever open 
to every symptom of culinary abundance, ranged with delight 
over the treasures of jolly autumn. On all sides he beheld 
vast store of apples ; some hanging in oppressive opulence on 
the trees; some gathered into baskets and barrels for the 
market; others heaped up in rich piles for the cider-press. 



81b THE SKETCH-BOOK 

Farther on he beheld great fields of Indian corn, with its 
golden ears peeping from their leafy coverlets, and holding 
out the promise of cakes and hasty-pudding ; and the yellow 
pumpkins lying beneath them, turning up their fair round 
bellies to the sun, and giving ample prospects of the most lux- 
urious of pies; and anon he passed the fragrant buckwheat 
fields, breathing the odor of the bee-hive, and as he beheld 
them, soft anticipations stole over his mind of dainty slapjacks, 
well buttered, and garnished with honey or treacle, by the 
delicate little dimpled hand of Katrina Van Tassel. 

39. Thus feeding his mind with many sweet thoughts and 
"sugared suppositions," he journeyed along the sides of a 
range of hills which look out upon some of the goodliest scenes 
of the mighty Hudson. The sun gradually wheeled his broad 
disk down into the west. The wide bosom of the Tappan Zee 
lay motionless and glassy, excepting that here and there a 
gentle undulation waved and prolonged the blue shadow of 
the distant mountain. A few amber clouds floated in the sky, 
without a breath of air to move them. The horizon was of a 
fine golden tint, changing gradually into a purple apple-green, 
and from that into the deep blue of the mid-heaven. A slant- 
ing ray lingered on the woody crests of the precipices that 
overhung some parts of the river, giving greater depth to the 
dark-gray and purple of their rocky sides. A sloop was loi- 
tering in the distance, dropping slowly down with the tide, her 
sail hanging uselessly against the mast ; and as the reflection 
of the sky gleamed along the still water, it seemed as if the 
vessel was suspended in the air. 

40. It was toward evening that Ichabod arrived at the 
castle of the Heer Van Tassel, which he found thronged with 
the pride and flower of the adjacent country. Old farmers, a 
spare leathern-faced race, in homespun coats and breeches, 
blue stockings, huge shoes, and magnificent pewter buckles. 
Their brisk withered little dames, in close crimped caps, long- 
waisted shortgowns, homespun petticoats, with scissors and 
pincushions, and gay calico pockets hanging on the outside. 
Buxom lasses, almost as antiquated as their mothers, ex- 
cepting where a straw hat, a fine ribbon, or perhaps a white 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 317 

frock, gave symptoms of city innovation. The sons, in short 
square-skirted coats with rows of stupendous brass buttons, 
and their hair generally queued in the fashion of the times, 
especially if they could procure an eel-skin for the purpose, it 
being esteemed, throughout the country, as a potent nourisher 
and strengthener of the hair. 

41. Brom Bones, however, was the hero of the scene, 
having come to the gathering on his favorite steed. Daredevil, 
a creature, like himself, full of mettle and mischief, and which 
no one but himself could manage. He was, in fact, noted 
for preferring vicious animals, given to all kinds of tricks, 
which kept the rider in constant risk of his neck, for he 
held a tractable well-broken horse as unworthy of a lad of 
spirit. 

42. Fain would I pause to dwell upon the world of charms 
that burst upon the enraptured gaze of my hero, as he entered 
the state parlor of Van Tassel's mansion. Not those of the 
bevy of buxom lasses, with their luxurious display of red and 
white ; but the ample charms of a genuine Dutch country tea- 
table, in the sumptuous time of autumn. Such heaped-up 
platters of cakes of various and almost indescribable kinds, 
known only to experienced Dutch housewives ! There was the 
doughty doughnut, the tenderer oly koek, and the crisp and 
crumbling cruller ; sweet cakes and short cakes, ginger-cakes 
and honey-cakes, and the whole family of cakes. And then 
there were apple-pies and peach-pies and pumpkin-pies ; be- 
sides slices of ham and smoked beef ; and moreover delectable 
dishes of preserved plums, and peaches, and pears, and 
quinces; not to mention broiled shad and roasted chickens; 
together with bowls of milk and cream, all mingled higgledy 
piggledy, pretty much as I have enumerated them, with the 
motherly tea-pot sending up its clouds of vapor from the 
midst — Heaven bless the mark ! I want breath and time 
to discuss this banquet as it deserves, and am too eager to 
get on with my story. Happily, Ichabod Crane was not in so 
great a hurry as his historian, but did ample justice to every 
dainty. 

43. He was a kind and thankful creature, whose heart 



318 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

dilated in proportion as his skin was filled with good cheer; 
and whose spirits rose with eating as some men's do with 
drink. He could not help, too, rolling his large eyes round 
him as he ate, and chuckling with the possibility that he might 
one day be lord of all this scene of almost unimaginable lux- 
ury and splendor. Then, he thought, how soon he'd turn his 
back upon the old school-house; snap his fingers in the face 
of Hans Van Ripper, and every other niggardly patron, and 
kick any itinerant pedagogue out-of-doors that should dare 
to call him comrade ! 

44. Old Baltus Van Tassel moved about among his guests 
with a face dilated with content and good-humor, round and 
jolly as the harvest-moon. His hospitable attentions were 
brief, but expressive, being confined to a shake of the hand, a 
slap on the shoulder, a loud laugh, and a pressing invitation 
to "fall to, and help themselves." 

45. And now the sound of the music from the common 
room, or hall, summoned to the dance. The musician was an 
old gray-headed negro, who had been the itinerant orchestra 
of the neighborhood for more than half a century. His in- 
strument was as old and battered as himself. The greater 
part of the time he scraped on two or three strings accom- 
panying every movement of the bow with a motion of the 
head; bowing almost to the ground and stamping with his 
foot whenever a fresh couple were to start. 

46. Ichabod prided himself upon his dancing as much as 
upon his vocal powers. Not a limb, not a fibre about him 
was idle; and to have seen his loosely hung frame in full 
motion, and clattering about the room, you would have 
thought Saint Vitus himself, that blessed patron of the dance, 
was figuring before you in person. He was the admiration 
of all the negroes ; who, having gathered, of all ages and sizes, 
from the farm and the neighborhood, stood forming a pyramid 
of shining black faces at every door and window, gazing with 
delight at the scene, rolling their white eyeballs, and showing 
grinning rows of ivory from ear to ear. How could the flogger 
of urchins be otherwise than animated and joyous? the lady 
of his heart was his partner in the dance, and smiling gra- 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 319 

ciously in reply to all his amorous oglings ; while Brom Bones, 
sorely smitten with love and jealousy, sat brooding by him- 
self in one corner. 

47. When the dance was at an end, Ichabod was attracted 
to a knot of the sager folks, who, with old Van Tassel, sat 
smoking at one end of the piazza, gossiping over former times, 
and drawing out long stories about the war. 

48. This neighborhood, at the time of which I am speaking, 
was one of those highly favored places which abound with 
chronicle and great men. The British and American line 
had run near it during the war; it had, therefore, been the 
scene of marauding, and infested with refugees, cow-boys, and 
all kinds of border chivalry. Just sufiicient time had elapsed 
to enable each story-teller to dress up his tale with a little 
becoming fiction, and, in the indistinctness of his recollection, 
to make himself the hero of every exploit. 

49. There was the story of Doffue Martling, a large blue- 
bearded Dutchman, who had nearly taken a British frigate 
with an old iron nine-pounder from a mud breastwork, only 
that his gun burst at the sixth discharge. And there was 
an old gentleman who shall be nameless, being too rich a 
mynheer to be lightly mentioned, who, in the battle of White- 
plains, being'an excellent master of defence, parried a musket- 
ball with a small sword, insomuch that he absolutely felt 
it whiz round the blade, and glance off at the hilt ; in proof 
of which he was ready at any time to show the sword, with the 
hilt a little bent. There were several more that had been 
equally great in the field, not one of whom but was persuaded, 
that he had a considerable hand in bringing the war to a happy 
termination. 

50. But all these were nothing to the tales of ghosts and 
apparitions that succeeded. The neighborhood is rich in 
legendary treasures of the kind. Local tales and supersti- 
tions thrive best in these sheltered long-settled retreats ; but 
are trampled underfoot by the shifting throng that forms the 
population of most of our country places. Besides, there is no 
encouragement for ghosts in most of our villages, for they 
have scarcely had time to finish their first nap, and turn them- 



320 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

selves in their graves before their surviving friends have 
travelled away from the neighborhood ; so that when they 
turn out at night to walk their rounds, they have no acquain- 
tance left to call upon. This is perhaps the reason why we 
so seldom hear of ghosts, except in our long-established Dutch 
communities. 

51. The immediate cause, however, of the prevalence of 
supernatural stories in these parts was doubtless owing to the 
vicinity of Sleepy Hollow. There was a contagion in the very 
air that blew from that haunted region ; it breathed forth an 
atmosphere of dreams and fancies infecting all the land. Sev- 
eral of the Sleepy Hollow people were present at Van Tassel's, 
and, as usual, were doling out their wild and wonderful 
legends. Many dismal tales were told about funeral trains, 
and mourning cries and wailings heard and seen about the 
great tree where the unfortunate Major Andre was taken, and 
which stood in the neighborhood. Some mention was made 
also of the woman in white, that haunted the dark glen at 
Raven Rock, and was often heard to shriek on winter nights 
before a storm, having perished there in the snow. The chief 
part of the stories, however, turned upon the favorite spectre 
of Sleepy Hollow, the headless horseman, who had been heard 
several times of late, patrolling the country ; and, it was said, 
tethered his horse nightly among the graves in the church- 
yard. 

52. The sequestered situation of this church seems always 
to have made it a favorite haunt of troubled spirits. It 
stands on a knoll, surrounded by locust-trees and lofty elms, 
from among which its decent whitewashed walls shine mod- 
estly forth, like Christian purity beaming through the shades 
of retirement. A gentle slope descends from it to a silver 
sheet of water, bordered by high trees, between which, peeps 
may be caught at the blue hills of the Hudson. To look 
upon its grass-grown yard, where the sunbeams seem to sleep 
so quietly, one would think that there at least the dead might 
rest in peace. On one side of the church extends a wide 
woody dell, along which raves a large brook among broken 
rocks and trunks of fallen trees. Over a deep black part of the 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 



321 



stream, not far from the church, was formerly thrown a 
wooden bridge ; the road that led to it, and the bridge itself, 
were thickly shaded by overhanging trees, which cast a gloom 
about it, even in the daytime, but occasioned a fearful dark- 
ness at night. This was one of the favorite haunts of the 
headless horseman; and the place where he was most fre- 
quently encountered. The tale was told of old Brouwer, a 
most heretical disbeliever in ghosts, how he met the horse- 




Slbepy Hollow Church and Cemetery 



man returning from his foray into Sleepy Hollow, and was 
obliged to get up behind him ; how they galloped over bush 
and brake, over hill and swamp, until they reached the bridge ; 
when the horseman suddenly turned into a skeleton, threw 
old Brouwer into the brook, and sprang away over the tree- 
tops with a clap of thunder. 

53. This story was immediately matched by a thrice mar- 
vellous adventure of Brom Bones, who made light of the 
galloping Hessian as an arrant jockey. He affirmed that, on 
returning one night from the neighboring village of Sing Sing, 
he had been overtaken by this midnight trooper ; that he had 
offered to race with him for a bowl of punch, and should have 
won it too, for Daredevil beat the goblin horse all hollow, 



322 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

but, just as they came to the church-bridge, the Hessian 
bolted, and vanished in a flash of fire. 

54. All these tales, told in that drowsy undertone with 
which men talk in the dark, the countenances of the hsteners 
only now and then receiving a casual gleam from the glare of 
a pipe, sank deep in the mind of Ichabod. He repaid them 
in kind with large extracts from his invaluable author, Cotton 
Mather, and added many marvellous events that had taken 
place in his native State of Connecticut, and fearful sights 
which he had seen in his nightly walks about the Sleepy 
Hollow. 

55. The revel now gradually broke up. The old farmers 
gathered together their families in their wagons, and were 
heard for some time rattling along the hollow roads, and over 
the distant hills. Some of the damsels mounted on pillions 
behind their favorite swains, and their light-hearted laughter, 
mingling with the clatter of hoofs, echoed along the silent 
woodlands, sounding fainter and fainter until they gradually 
died away — and the late scene of noise and frolic was all silent 
and deserted. Ichabod only lingered behind, according to the 
custom of country lovers, to have a tete-a-tete with the heiress, 
fully convinced that he was now on the high road to success. 
What passed at this interview I will not pretend to say, for in 
fact I do not know. Something, however, I fear me, must 
have gone wrong, for he certainly sallied forth, after no very 
great interval, with an air quite desolate and chopfallen. — 
Oh, these women ! these women ! Could that girl have been 
playing off any of her coquettish tricks ? — Was her en- 
couragement of the poor pedagogue all a mere sham to secure 
her conquest of his rival ? — Heaven only knows, not I ! — 
Let it suffice to say, Ichabod stole forth with the air of one 
who had been sacking a henroost, rather than a fair lady's 
heart. Without looking to the right or left to notice the scene 
of rural wealth on which he had so often gloated, he went 
straight to the stable, and with several hearty cuffs and kicks, 
roused his steed most uncourteously from the comfortable 
quarters in which he was soundly sleeping, dreaming of moun- 
tains of corn and oats, and whole valleys of timothy and clover. 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 323 

56. It was the very witching time of night that Ichabod, 
heavy-hearted and crest-fallen, pursued his travel home- 
wards, along the sides of the lofty hills which rise above 
Tarry Town, and which he had traversed so cherrily in the 
afternoon. The hour was as dismal as himself. Far below 
him, the Tappan Zee spread its dusky and indistinct waste 
of waters, with here and there the tall mast of a sloop riding 
quietly at anchor under the land. In the dead hush of mid- 
night he could even hear the barking of the watch-dog from 
the opposite shore of the Hudson; but it was so vague and 
faint as only to give an idea of his distance from this faithful 
companion of man. Now and then, too, the long-drawn crow- 
ing of a cock, accidentally awakened, would sound far, far off, 
from some farm-house away among the hills — but it was like a 
dreaming sound in his ear. No signs of life occurred near him, 
but occasionally the melancholy chirp of a cricket, or perhaps 
the guttural twang of a bull-frog, from a neighboring marsh, 
as if sleeping uncomfortably, and turning suddenly in his bed. 

57. All the stories of ghosts and goblins that he had heard 
in the afternoon, now came crowding upon his recollection. 
The night grew darker and darker ; the stars seemed to sink 
deeper in the sky, and driving clouds occasionally hid them 
from his sight. He had never felt so lonely and dismal. He 
was, moreover, approaching the very place where many of the 
scenes of the ghost-stories had been laid. In the centre of the 
road stood an enormous tulip-tree, which towered like a giant 
above all the other trees of the neighborhood, and formed 
a kind of landmark. Its limbs were gnarled, and fantastic, 
large enough to form trunks for ordinary trees, twisting down 
almost to the earth, and rising again into the air. It was 
connected with the tragical story of the unfortunate Andre, 
who had been taken prisoner hard by; and was universally 
known by the name of Major Andre's tree. The common 
people regarded it with a mixture of respect and superstition, 
partly out of sympathy for the fate of its ill-starred name- 
sake, and partly from the tales of strange sights and doleful 
lamentations told concerning it. 

58. As Ichabod approached this fearful tree, he began to 



324 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

whistle : he thought his whistle was answered, — it was but 
a blast sweeping sharply through the dry branches. As he 
approached a little nearer, he thought he saw something white, 
hanging in the midst of the tree, — he paused and ceased 
whistling; but on looking more narrowly, perceived that it 
was a place where the tree had been scathed by lightning, 
and the white wood laid bare. Suddenly he heard a groan, — 
his teeth chattered and his knees smote against the saddle : 
it was but the rubbing of one huge bough upon another, as 
they were swayed about by the breeze. He passed the tree 
in safety; but new perils lay before him. 

59. About two hundred yards from the tree a small brook 
crossed the road, and ran into a marshy and thickly wooded 
glen, known by the name of Wiley's swamp. A few rough 
logs, laid side by side, served for a bridge over this stream. 
On that side of the road where the brook entered the wood, 
a group of oaks and chestnuts, matted thick with wild grape- 
vines, threw a cavernous gloom over it. To pass this bridge 
was the severest trial. It was at this identical spot that the 
unfortunate Andre was captured, and under the covert of those 
chestnuts and vines were the sturdy yeomen concealed who 
surprised him. This has ever since been considered a haunted 
stream, and fearful are the feelings of the school boy who has 
to pass it alone after dark. 

60. As he approached the stream, his heart began to 
thump ; he summoned up, however, all his resolution, gave his 
horse half a score of kicks in the ribs, and attempted to dash 
briskly across the bridge ; but instead of starting forward, the 
perverse old animal made a lateral movement, and ran broad- 
side against the fence. Ichabod, whose fears increased with 
the delay, jerked the reins on the other side, and kicked lustily 
with the contrary foot : it was all in vain ; his steed started, 
it is true, but it was only to plunge to the opposite side of the 
road into a thicket of brambles and alder bushes. The school- 
master now bestowed both whip and heel upon the starveling 
ribs of old Gunpowder, who dashed forward, snuffling and 
snorting, but came to a stand just by the bridge, with a sud- 
denness that had nearly sent his rider sprawling over his head. 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 325 

Just at this moment a plashy tramp by the side of the bridge 
caught the sensitive ear of Ichabod. In the dark shadow of 
the grove, on the margin of the brook, he beheld something 
huge, misshapen, black, and towering. It stirred not, but 
seemed gathered up in the gloom, like some gigantic monster 
ready to spring upon the traveller. 

61. The hair of the affrighted pedagogue rose upon his 
head with terror. What was to be done? To turn and fly 
was now too late; and besides, what chance was there of 
escaping ghost or goblin, if such it was, which could ride upon 
the wings of the wind? Summoning up, therefore, a show 
of courage, he demanded in stammering accents — "Who are 
you?" He received no reply. He repeated his demand in a 
still more agitated voice. Still there was no answer. Once 
more he cudgelled the sides of the inflexible Gunpowder, and, 
shutting his eyes, broke forth with involuntary fervor into a 
psalm-tune. Just then the shadowy object of alarm put 
itself in motion, and, with a scramble and a bound, stood at 
once in the middle of the road. Though the night was dark 
and dismal, yet the form of the unknown might now in some 
degree be ascertained. He appeared to be a horseman of 
large dimensions, and mounted on a black horse of powerful 
frame. He made no offer of molestation or sociability, but 
kept aloof on one side of the road, jogging along on the blind 
side of old Gunpowder, who had now got over his fright and 
waywardness. 

62. Ichabod, who had no relish for this strange midnight 
companion, and bethought himself of the adventure of Brom 
Bones with the Galloping Hessian, now quickened his steed, 
in hopes of leaving him behind. The stranger, however, 
quickened his horse to an equal pace. Ichabod pulled up, 
and fell into a walk, thinking to lag behind, — the other did 
the same. His heart began to sink within him ; he endeavored 
to resume his psalm-tune, but his parched tongue clove to the 
roof of his mouth, and he could not utter a stave. There was 
something in the moody and dogged silence of this pertina- 
cious companion, that was mysterious and appalling. It was 
soon fearfully accounted for. On mounting a rising ground, 



326 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

which brought the figure of his fellow-traveller in relief against 
the sky, gigantic in height, and muffled in a cloak, Ichabod 
was horror-struck, on perceiving that he was headless ! — 
but his horror was still more increased, on observing that the 
head, which should have rested on his shoulders, was carried 
before him on the pommel of the saddle : his terror rose to 
desperation ; he rained a shower of kicks and blows upon Gun- 
powder, hoping, by a sudden movement, to give his compan- 
ion the slip, — but the spectre started full jump with him. 
Away then they dashed, through thick and thin ; stones flying, 
and sparks flashing at every bound. Ichabod's flimsy gar- 
ments fluttered in the air, as he stretched his long lank body 
away over his horse's head, in the eagerness of his flight. 

63. They had now reached the road which turns off to 
Sleepy Hollow ; but Gunpowder, who seemed possessed with 
a demon, instead of keeping up it, made an opposite turn, 
and plunged headlong downhill to the left. This road leads 
through a sandy hollow, shaded by trees for about a quarter of 
a mile, where it crosses the bridge famous in goblin story, and 
just beyond swells the green knoll on which stands the white- 
washed church. 

64. As yet the panic of the steed had given his unskilful 
rider an apparent advantage in the chase ; but just as he had 
got half-way through the hollow, the girths of the saddle gave 
way, and he felt it slipping from under him. He seized it by 
the pommel, and endeavored to hold it firm, but in vain ; and 
had just time to save himself by clasping old Gunpowder 
round the neck, when the saddle fell to the earth, and he 
heard it trampled underfoot by his pursuer. For a moment 
the terror of Hans Van Ripper's wrath passed across his mind 
— for it was his Sunday saddle ; but this was no time for 
petty fears ; the goblin was hard on his haunches ; and (un- 
skilful rider that he was !) he had much ado to maintain his 
seat; sometimes slipping on one side, sometimes on another, 
and sometimes jolted on the high ridge of his horse's back- 
bone, with a violence that he verily feared would cleave him 
asunder. 

65. An opening in the trees now cheered him with the 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 327 

hopes that the church-bridge was at hand. The wavering 
reflection of a silver star in the bosom of the brook told him 
that he was not mistaken. He saw the walls of the church 
dimly glaring under the trees beyond. He recollected the 
place where Brom Bones 's ghostly competitor had disap- 
peared. "If I can but reach that bridge/' thought Ichabod, 
" I am safe.'' Just then he heard the black steed panting and 




ICHABOD AND THE HEADLESS HOESEMAN 

From the engraving by Charles O. Murray 

blowing close behind him; he even fancied that he felt his 
hot breath. Another convulsive kick in the ribs, and old 
Gunpowder sprang upon the bridge ; he thundered over the 
resounding planks; he gained the opposite side; and now 
Ichabod cast a look behind to see if his pursuer should vanish, 
according to rule, in a flash of fire and brimstone. Just then 
he saw the goblin rising in his stirrups, and in the very act of 
hurling his head at him. Ichabod endeavored to dodge the 
horrible missile, but too late. It encountered his cranium with 



328 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

a tremendous crash, — he was tumbled headlong into the 
dust, and Gunpowder, the black steed, and the goblin rider, 
passed by like a whirlwind. 

66. The next morning the old horse was found without his 
saddle, and with the bridle under his feet, soberly cropping 
the grass at his master's gate. Ichabod did not make his ap- 
pearance at breakfast ; — dinner-hour came, but no Ichabod. 
The boys assembled at the school-house, and strolled idly 
about the banks of the brook; but no schoolmaster. Hans 
Van Ripper now began to feel some uneasiness about the fate 
of poor Ichabod, and his saddle. An inquiry was set on foot, 
and after diligent investigation they came upon his traces. In 
one part of the road leading to the church was found the 
saddle trampled in the dirt ; the tracks of horses' hoofs deeply 
dented in the road, and evidently at furious speed, were traced 
to the bridge, beyond which, on the bank of a broad part of 
the brook, where the water ran deep and black, was found the 
hat of the unfortunate Ichabod, and close beside it a shattered 
pumpkin. 

67. The brook was searched, but the body of the school- 
master was not to be discovered. Hans Van Ripper, as 
executor of his estate, examined the bundle which contained 
all his worldly effects. They consisted of two shirts and 
a half ; two stocks for the neck ; a pair or two of worsted 
stockings; an old pair of corduroy small-clothes; a rusty 
razor; a book of psalm-tunes, full of dogs' ears, and 
a broken pitchpipe. As to the books and furniture of the 
school-house, they belonged to the community, excepting 
Cotton Mather's ''History of Witchcraft," a "New England 
Almanac," and a book of dreams and fortune-telling; in 
which last was a sheet of foolscap much scribbled and blotted 
in several fruitless attempts to make a copy of verses in 
honor of the heiress of Van Tassel. These magic books and 
the poetic scrawl were forthwith consigned to the flames by 
Hans Van Ripper; who from that time forward determined 
to send his children no more to school; observing, that he 
never knew any good come of this same reading and writing. 
Whatever money the schoolmaster possessed, and he had 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 329 

received his quarter's pay but a day or two before, he must 
have had about his person at the time of his disappearance. 

68. The mysterious event caused much speculation at the 
church on the following Sunday. Knots of gazers and gossips 
were collected in the churchyard, at the bridge, and at the 
spot where the hat and pumpkin had been found. The stories 
of Brouwer, of Bones, and a whole budget of others, were 
called to mind; and when they had diligently considered 
them all, and compared them with the symptoms of the present 
case, they shook their heads, and came to the conclusion that 
Ichabod had been carried off by the Galloping Hessian. As 
he was a bachelor, and in nobody's debt, nobody troubled 
his head any more about him. The school was removed to 
a different quarter of the Hollow, and another pedagogue 
reigned in his stead. 

69. It is true, an old farmer, who had been down to New 
York on a visit several years after, and from whom this ac- 
count of the ghostly adventure was received, brought home 
the intelligence that Ichabod Crane was still alive : that he 
had left the neighborhood, partly through fear of the goblin 
and Hans Van Ripper, and partly in mortification at having 
been suddenly dismissed by the heiress ; that he had changed 
his quarters to a distant part of the country ; had kept school 
and studied law at the same time, had been admitted to the 
bar, turned politician, electioneered, written for the news- 
papers, and finally had been made a justice of the Ten Pound 
Court. Brom Bones too, who shortly after his rival's dis- 
appearance conducted the blooming Katrina in triumph to 
the altar, was observed to look exceeding knowing when- 
ever the story of Ichabod was related, and always burst into 
a hearty laugh at the mention of the pumpkin; which led 
some to suspect that he knew more about the matter than he 
chose to tell. 

70. The old country wives, however, who are the best 
judges of these matters, maintain to this day that Ichabod 
was spirited away by supernatural means ; and it is a favorite 
story often told about the neighborhood round the winter 
evening fire. The bridge became more than ever an object 



330 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

of superstitious awe, and that may be the reason why the road 
has been altered of late years, so as to approach the church 
by the border of the mill-pond. The school-house, being 
deserted, soon fell to decay, and was reported to be haunted 
by the ghost of the unfortunate pedagogue ; and the plough- 
boy, loitering homeward of a still summer evening, has often 
fancied his voice at a distance, chanting a melancholy psalm- 
tune among the tranquil solitudes of Sleepy Hollow. 

POSTSCRIPT, 

FOUND IN THE HANDWRITING OF MR. KNICKERBOCKER 

The preceding Tale is given, almost in the precise words in which 
I heard it related at a Corporation meeting of the ancient city of 
Manhattoes, at which were present many of its sagest and most illus- 
trious burghers. The narrator was a pleasant, shabby, gentlemanly 
old fellow, in pepper-and-salt clothes, with a sadly humorous face; 
and one whom I strongly suspected of being poor, — he made such 
efforts to be entertaining. When his story was concluded, there was 
much laughter and approbation, particularly from two or three deputy 
aldermen, who had been asleep the greater part of the time. There was, 
however, one tall, dry-looking old gentleman, with beetling eyebrows, 
who maintained a grave and rather severe face throughout; now 
and then folding his arms, inclining his head, and looking down upon 
the floor, as if turning a doubt over in his mind. He was one of your 
wary men, who never laugh, but on good grounds — when they have 
reason and the law on their side. When the mirth of the rest of the 
company had subsided and silence was restored, he leaned one arm on 
the elbow of his chair, and sticking the other akimbo, demanded, with 
a slight but exceedingly sage motion of the head, and contraction of 
the brow, what was the moral of the story, and what it went to prove ? 
The story-teller, who was just putting a glass of wine to his lips, as 
a refreshment after his toils, paused for a moment, looked at his in- 
quirer with an air of infinite deference, and, lowering the glass slowly 
to the table, observed, that the story was intended most logically 
to prove : 

"That there is no situation in life but has its advantages and pleas- 
ures — provided we will but take a joke as we find it : 

"That, therefore, he that runs races with goblin troopers is likely 
to have rough riding of it. 

"Ergo, for a country schoolmaster to be refused the hand of a 
Dutch heiress, is a certain step to high preferment in the state." 

The cautious old gentleman knit his brows tenfold closer after 
this explanation, being sorely puzzled by the ratiocination of the 
syllogism ; while, methought, the one in pepper-and-salt eyed him 
with something of a triumphant leer. At length he observed, that all 
this was very well, but still he thought the story a little on the extrav- 
agant — there were one or two points on which he had his doubts. 

"Faith, sir," replied the story-teller, "as to that matter I don't 
believe one half of it myself." D. K. 



THE INN KITCHEN 

[Note. — The story of "The Spectre Bridegroom" is included 
in this edition as supplementary reading. The plan of arrange- 
ment and composition is similar to the plan used in Irving's 
other stories, and if there is time for careful study of the nar- 
rative it offers an excellent opportunity for an original experi- 
ment on the part of the teacher, who will be able to arrange a 
plan of study similar in character to the Study of "Rip Van 
Winkle" or of "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow," but varied 
to meet special requirements in his own class. It must not, 
however, be forgotten that the exciting of interest is but 
one of several important objects to be gained in any plan 
for the study of a particular narrative. In the end, the 
author's purpose in the story must be made clear, and essen- 
tial features of the development must be emphasized, rather 
than incidental, or merely striking matters. 

" The Inn Kitchen " is a charming picture of homely comfort 
and pleasures, and it serves as the background for a tale that 
would otherwise seem to have been introduced, without suffi- 
cient excuse. For a different description of a group gathered on 
a stormy night in an inn kitchen, see Dickens's account of how 
David Copperfield passed the night before the great storm in a 
Yarmouth hostelry. D.] 

Shall I not take mine ease in mine inn ? 

— Falstaff. 

1. During a journey that I once made through the Nether- 
lands, I had arrived one evening at the Pomme d'Or, the prin- 
cipal inn of a small Flemish village. It was after the hour 
of the table d'hote, so that I was obliged to make a solitary 
supper from the relics of its ampler board. The weather was 
chilly ; I was seated alone in one end of a great gloomy dining- 
room, and, my repast being over, I had the prospect before 
me of a long dull evening, without any visible means of 
enlivening it. I summoned mine host, and requested some- 
thing to read ; he brought me the whole hterary stock of his 
household, a Dutch family Bible, an almanac in the same 
language, and a number of old Paris newspapers. As I sat 

331 



332 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

dozing over one of the latter, reading old and stale criticisms, 
my ear was now and then struck with bursts of laughter 
which seemed to proceed from the kitchen. Every one that 
has travelled on the continent must know how favorite a re- 
sort the kitchen of a country inn is to the middle and inferior 
order of travellers; particularly in that equivocal kind of 
weather, when a fire becomes agreeable toward evening. I 
threw aside the newspaper, and explored my way to the kit- 
chen, to take a peep at the group that appeared to be so 
merry. It was composed partly of travellers who had ar- 
rived some hours before in a diligence, and p^tly of the usual 
attendants and hangers-on of inns. They were seated round 
a great burnished stove, that might have been mistaken for 
an altar, at which they were worshipping. It was covered 
with various kitchen vessels of resplendent brightness ; among 
which steamed and hissed a huge copper tea-kettle. A large 
lamp threw a strong mass of light upon the group, bringing 
out many odd features in strong relief. Its yellow rays par- 
tially illumined the spacious kitchen, dying duskily away into 
remote corners, except where they settled in mellow radiance 
on the broad side of a flitch of bacon, or were reflected back 
from well-scoured utensils, that gleamed from the midst of 
obscurity. A strapping Flemish lass, with long golden 
pendants in her ears, and a necklace with a golden heart sus- 
pended to it, was the presiding priestess of the temple. 

2. Many of the company were furnished with pipes, and 
most of them with some kind of evening potation. I found 
their mirth was occasioned by anecdotes, which a little swarthy 
Frenchman, with a dry weazen face and large whiskers, was 
giving of his love adventures ; at the end of each of which there 
was one of those bursts of honest unceremonious laughter, in 
which a man indulges in that temple of true liberty, an inn. 

3. As I had no better mode of getting through a tedious 
blustering evening, I took my seat near the stove, and listened 
to a variety of traveller's tales, some very extravagant, and 
most very dull. All of them, however, have faded from my 
treacherous memory except one, which I will endeavor to 
relate. I fear, however, it derived its chief zest from the 



THE INN KITCHEN 333 

manner in which it was told, and the pecuhar air and ap- 
pearance of the narrator. He was a corpulent old Swiss, who 
had the look of a veteran traveller. He was dressed in a tar- 
nished green travelling-jacket, with a broad belt round his 
waist, and a pair of overalls, with buttons from the hips to 
the ankles. He was of a full, rubicund countenance, with a 
double chin, aquiline nose, and a pleasant, twinkling eye. 
His hair was light, and curled from under an old green velvet 
travelling-cap stuck on one side of his head. He was inter- 
rupted more than once by the arrival of guests, or the remarks 
of his auditors; and paused now and then to replenish his 
pipe ; at which times he had generally a roguish leer, and a sly 
joke for the buxom kitchen-maid. 

4. I wish my readers could imagine the old fellow lolling 
in a huge arm-chair, one arm akimbo, the other holding a 
curiously twisted tobacco-pipe, formed of genuine ecume de 
mer, decorated with silver chain and silken tassel, — his head 
cocked on one side, and a whimsical cut of the eye occasion- 
ally, as he related the following story. 



THE SPECTRE BRIDEGROOM 
A TRAVELLER'S TALE ^ 

He that supper for is dight, 
He lyes full cold, I trow, this night ! 
Yestreen to chamber I him led, 
This night Gray-Steel has made his bed. 
— Sir Eger, Sir Grahame, and Sir Gray Steel. 

1. On the summit of one of the heights of the Odenwald, 
a wild and romantic tract of Upper Germany, that Hes not far 
from the confluence of the Main and the Rhine, there stood, 
many, many years since, the Castle of the Baron Von Land- 
short. It is now quite fallen to decay, and almost buried 
among beech-trees and dark firs; above which, however, its 
old watch-tower may still be seen, struggling, like the former 
possessor I have mentioned, to carry a high head, and look 
down upon the neighboring country. 

2. The baron was a dry branch of the great family of 
Katzenellenbogen,^ and inherited the relics of the property, 
and all the pride of his ancestors. Though the warlike dis- 
position of his predecessors had much impaired the family 
possessions, yet the baron still endeavored to keep up some 
show of former state. The times were peaceable, and the 
German nobles, in general, had abandoned their inconvenient 
old castles, perched like eagles' nests among the mountains, 
and had built more convenient residences in the valleys : still 
the baron remained proudly drawn up in his little fortress, 
cherishing, with hereditary inveterancy, all the old family 

^ The erudite reader, well versed in good-for-nothing lore, will 
perceive that the above Tale must have been suggested to the old 
Swiss by a little French anecdote, a circumstance said to have taken 
place at Paris. 

2 I.e. Cat's-Elbow. The name of a family of those parts very 
powerful in former times. The appellation, we are told, was given in 
compliment to a peerless dame of the family, celebrated for her fine 
arm. 

334 



THE SPECTKE BRIDEGROOM 335 

feuds; so that he was on ill terms with some of his nearest 
neighbors, on account of disputes that had happened between 
their great-great-grandfathers. 

3. The baron had but one child, a daughter ; but nature, when 
she grants but one child, always compensates by making it a 
prodigy; and so it was with the daughter of the baron. All 
the nurses, gossips, and country cousins assured her father 
that she had not her equal for beauty in all Germany; and 
who should know better than they ? She had, moreover, been 
brought up with great care under the superintendence of 
two maiden aunts, who had spent some years of their early 
life at one of the little German courts, and were skilled in all 
the branches of knowledge necessary to the education of a fine 
lady. Under their instructions she became a miracle of ac- 
complishments. By the time she was eighteen, she could 
embroider to admiration, and had worked whole histories 
of the saints in tapestry, with such strength of expression in 
their countenances, that they looked like so many souls in 
purgatory. She could read without great difficulty, and had 
spelled her way through several church legends, and almost all 
the chivalric wonders of the Heldenbuch. She had even 
made considerable proficiency in writing ; could sign her own 
name without missing a letter, and so legibly, that her aunts 
could read it without spectacles. She excelled in making little 
elegant good-for-nothing lady-like knickknacks of all kinds; 
was versed in the most abstruse dancing of the day; played 
a number of airs on the harp and guitar; and knew all the 
tender ballads of the Minnelieders by heart. 

4. Her aunts, too, having been great flirts and coquettes in 
their younger days, were admirably calculated to be vigilant 
guardians and strict censors of the conduct of their niece; 
for there is no duenna so rigidly prudent, and inexorably de- 
corous, as a superannuated coquette. She was rarely suf- 
fered out of their sight ; never went beyond the domains of the 
castle, unless well attended, or rather well watched; had 
continual lectures read to her about strict decorum and im- 
plicit obedience ; and, as to the men — pah ! — she was taught 
to hold them at such a distance, and in such absolute dis- 



836 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

trust, that, unless properly authorized, she would not have 
cast a glance upon the handsomest cavalier in the world — 
no, not if he were even lying at her feet. 

5. The good effects of this system were wonderfully ap- 
parent. The young lady was a pattern of docility and correct- 
ness. While others were wasting their sweetness in the glare 
of the world, and liable to be plucked and thrown aside by 
every hand, she was coyly blooming into fresh and lovely 
womanhood under the protection of those immaculate spin- 
sters like a rose-bud blushing forth among guardian thorns. 
Her aunts looked upon her with pride and exultation, and 
vaunted that though all the other young ladies in the world 
might go astray, yet, thank Heaven, nothing of the kind could 
happen to the heiress of Katzenellenbogen. 

6. But, however scantily the Baron Von Landshort might 
be provided with children, his household was by no means a 
small one ; for Providence had enriched him with abundance 
of poor relations. They, one and all, possessed the affec- 
tionate disposition common to humble relatives ; were wonder- 
fully attracted to the baron, and took every possible occasion 
to come in swarms and enliven the castle. All family festivals 
were commemorated by these good people at the baron's 
expense; and when they were filled with good cheer, they 
would declare that there was nothing on earth so delightful 
as these family meetings, these jubilees of the heart. 

7. The baron, though a small man, had a large soul, and 
it swelled with satisfaction at the consciousness of being the 
greatest man in the little world about him. He loved to tell 
long stories about the dark old warriors whose portraits looked 
grimly down from the walls around, and he found no listeners 
equal to those who fed at his expense. He was much given 
to the marvellous, and a firm believer in all those supernatural 
tales with which every mountain and valley in Germany 
abounds. The faith of his guests exceeded even his own, 
they listened to every tale of wonder with open eyes and 
mouth, and never failed to be astonished, even though re- 
peated for the hundredth time. Thus lived the Baron Von 
Landshort, the oracle of his table, the absolute monarch of his 



THE SPECTRE BRIDEGROOM 337 

little territory, and happy, above all things, in the persuasion 
that he was the wisest man of the age. 

8. At the time of which my story treats, there was a great 
family-gathering at the castle, on an affair of the utmost im- 
portance : it was to receive the destined bridegroom of the 
baron's daughter. A negotiation had been carried on between 
the father and an old nobleman of Bavaria, to unite the dig- 
nity of their houses by the marriage of their children. The 
preliminaries had been conducted with proper punctilio. 
The young people were betrothed without seeing each other ; 
and the time was appointed for the marriage ceremony. 
The young Count Von Altenburg had been recalled from the 
army for the purpose, and was actually on his way to the 
baron's to receive his bride. Missives had even been received 
from him, from Wtirtzburg, where he was accidentally de- 
tained, mentioning the day and hour when he might be 
expected to arrive. 

9. The castle was in a tumult of preparation to give him 
a suitable welcome. The fair bride had been decked out with 
uncommon care. The two aunts had superintended her 
toilet, and quarrelled the whole morning about every article 
of her dress. The young lady had taken advantage of their 
contest to follow the bent of her own taste ; and fortunately 
it was a good one. She looked as lovely as youthful bride- 
groom could desire ; and the flutter of expectation heightened 
the lustre of her charms. 

10. The suffusions that mantled her face and neck, the 
gentle heaving of the bosom, the eye now and then lost in 
reverie, all betrayed the soft tumult that was going on in her 
little heart. The aunts were continually hovering around her ; 
for maiden aunts are apt to take great interest in affairs of 
this nature. They were giving her a world of staid counsel 
how to deport herself, what to say, and in what manner to 
receive the expected lover. 

11 . The baron was no less busied in preparations. He had, 
in truth, nothing exactly to do ; but he was naturally a fum- 
ing, busthng little man, and could not remain passive when 
all the world was in a hurry. He worried from top to bottom 



338 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

of the castle with an air of infinite anxiety; he continually 
called the servants from their work to exhort them to be dih- 
gent ; and buzzed about every hall and chamber, as idly rest- 
less and importunate as a blue-bottle fly on a warm summer's 
day. 

12. In the mean time the fatted calf had been killed ; the 
forests had rung with the clamor of the huntsmen; the 
kitchen was crowded with good cheer ; the cellars had yielded 
up whole oceans of Rhein-wein and Ferne-wein; and even 
the great Heidelberg tun had been laid under contribution. 
Everything was ready to receive the distinguished guest with 
Saus und Braus in the true spirit of German hospitality ; — 
but the guest delayed to make his appearance. Hour rolled 
after hour. The sun, that had poured his downward rays 
upon the rich forest of the Odenwald, now just gleamed along 
the summits of the mountains. The Baron mounted the 
highest tower, and strained his eyes in hope of catching a 
distant sight of the count and his attendants. Once he 
thought he beheld them; the sound of horns came floating 
from the valley, prolonged by the mountain echoes. A 
number of horsemen were seen far below, slowly advancing 
along the road ; but when they had nearly reached the foot 
of the mountain, they suddenly struck off in a different direc- 
tion. The last ray of sunshine departed, — the bats began 
to flit by in the twilight, — the road grew dimmer and dim- 
mer to the view, and nothing appeared stirring in it but now 
and then a peasant lagging homeward from his labor. 

13. While the old castle of Landshort was in this state 
of perplexity, a very interesting scene was transacting in a 
different part of the Odenwald. 

14. The young Count Von Altenburg was tranquilly pur- 
suing his route in that sober jog-trot way, in which a man 
travels toward matrimony when his friends have taken all the 
trouble and uncertainty of courtship off his hands, and a 
bride is waiting for him, as certainly as a dinner at the end 
of his journey. He had encountered at Wiirtzburg a 
youthful companion in arms, with whom he had seen 
some service on the frontiers, — Herman Von Starkenfaust, 



THE SPECTRE BRIDEGROOM 339 

one of the stoutest hands and worthiest hearts of German 
chivahy, who was now returning from the army. His father's 
castle was not far distant from the old fortress of Landshort, 
although an hereditary feud rendered the families hostile, and 
strangers to each other. 

15. In the warm-hearted moment of recognition, the young 
friends related all their past adventures and fortunes, and the 
count gave the whole history of his intended nuptials with a 
young lady whom he had never seen, but of whose charms 
he had received the most enrapturing descriptions. 

16. As the route of the friends lay in the same direction, 
they agreed to perform the rest of their journey together; 
and, that they might do it the more leisurely, set off from 
Wiirtzburg at an early hour, the count having given direc- 
tions for his retinue to follow and overtake him. 

17. They beguiled their wayfaring with recollections of 
their military scenes and adventures ; but the count was apt 
to be a little tedious, now and then, about the reputed charms 
of his bride, and the felicity that awaited him. 

18. In this way they had entered among the mountains 
of the Odenwald, and were traversing one of its most lonely 
and thickly-wooded passes. It is well known that the forests 
of Germany have always been as much infested by robbers 
as its castles by spectres; and, at this time, the former 
were particularly numerous, from the hordes of disbanded 
soldiers wandering about the country. It will not appear 
extraordinary, therefore, that the cavaliers were attacked by 
a gang of these stragglers, in the midst of the forest. They 
defended themselves with bravery, but were nearly over- 
powered, when the count's retinue arrived to their assistance. 
At sight of them the robbers fled, but not until the count had 
received a mortal wound. He was slowly and carefully con- 
veyed back to the city of Wiirtzburg, and a friar summoned 
from a neighboring convent, who was famous for his skill 
in administering to both soul and body ; but half of his skill 
was superfluous ; the moments of the unfortunate count were 
numbered. 

19. With his dying breath he entreated his friend to repair 



340 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

instantly to the castle of Landshort, and explain the fatal 
cause of his not keeping his appointment with his bride. 
Though not the most ardent of lovers, he was one of the most 
punctilious of men, and appeared earnestly solicitous that 
his mission should be speedily and courteously executed. 
''Unless this is done," said he, "I shall not sleep quietly in 
my grave ! " He repeated these last words with peculiar 
solemnity. A request, at a moment so impressive, admitted 
no hesitation. Starkenfaust endeavored to soothe him to 
calmness; promised faithfully to execute his wish, and gave 
him his hand in solemn pledge. The dying man pressed it in 
acknowledgment, but soon lapsed into delirium — raved 
about his bride — his engagements — his plighted word ; 
ordered his horse, that he might ride to the castle of Land- 
short; and expired in the fancied act of vaulting into the 
saddle. 

20. Starkenfaust bestowed a sigh and a soldier's tear on the 
untimely fate of his comrade ; and then pondered on the awk- 
ward mission he had undertaken. His heart was heavy, and 
his head perplexed ; for he was to present himself an unbidden 
guest among hostile people, and to damp their festivity with 
tidings fatal to their hopes. Still there were certain whis- 
perings of curiosity in his bosom to see this far-famed beauty 
of Katzenellenbogen, so cautiously shut up from the world; 
for he was a passionate admirer of the sex, and there was a 
dash of eccentricity and enterprise in his character that made 
him fond of all singular adventure. 

21. Previous to his departure he made all due arrange- 
ments with the holy fraternity of the convent for the funeral 
solemnities of his friend, who was to be buried in the cathedral 
of Wiirtzburg, near some of his illustrious relatives; and the 
mourning retinue of the count took charge of his remains. 

22. It is now high time that we should return to the ancient 
family of Katzenellenbogen, who were impatient for their 
guest, and still more for their dinner ; and to the worthy little 
baron, whom we left airing himself on the watch-tower. 

23. Night closed in, but still no guest arrived. The baron 
descended from the tower in despair. The banquet, which 



THE SPECTRE BRIDEGROOM 



341 



had been delayed from hour to hour, could no longer be 
postponed. The meats were already overdone; the cook in 
an agony; and the whole household had the look of a gar- 
rison that had been reduced by famine. The baron was 
obliged reluctantly to 
give orders for the 
feast without the 
presence of the guest. 
All were seated at 
table, and just on the 
point of commencing, 
when the sound of a 
horn from without the 
gate gave notice of 
the approach of a 
stranger. Another 
long blast filled the 
old courts of the castle 
with its echoes, and 
was answered by the 
warder from the walls. 
The baron hastened 
to receive his future 
son-in-law. 

24. The drawbridge 
had been let down, 
and the stranger was 

before the gate. He was a tall, gallant cavalier, mounted 
on a black steed. His countenance was pale, but he had a 
beaming, romantic eye, and an air of stately melancholy. 
The baron was a little mortified that he should have come in 
this simple, solitary style. His dignity for a moment was 
ruffled, and he felt disposed to consider it a want of proper 
respect for the important occasion, and the important family 
with which he was to be connected. He pacified himself, 
however, with the conclusion, that it must have been youthful 
impatience which had induced him thus to spur on sooner than 
his attendants. 




"He was a Tall, Gallant Cavalier" 
From the engraving by Charles O. Murray 



342 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

25. "I am sorry," said the stranger, "to break in upon 
you thus unseasonably" 

26. Here the baron interrupted him with a world of 
compliments and greetings ; for, to tell the truth, he prided 
himself upon his courtesy and eloquence. The stranger at- 
tempted, once or twice, to stem the torrent of words, but in 
vain, so he bowed his head and suffered it to flow on. By the 
time the baron had come to a pause, they had reached the 
inner court of the castle ; and the stranger was again about 
to speak, when he was once more interrupted by the appear- 
ance of the female part of the family, leading forth the shrink- 
ing and blushing bride. He gazed on her for a moment as one 
entranced ; it seemed as if his whole soul beamed forth in the 
gaze, and rested upon that lovely form. One of the maiden 
aunts whispered something in her ear ; she made an effort to 
speak; her moist blue eye was timidly raised; gave a shy 
glance of inquiry on the stranger ; and was cast again to the 
ground. The words died away ; but there was a sweet smile 
playing about her lips, and a soft dimpling of the cheek that 
showed her glance had not been unsatisfactory. It was im- 
possible for a girl of the fond age of eighteen, highly pre- 
disposed for love and matrimony, not to be pleased with so 
gallant a cavalier. 

27. The late hour at which the guest had arrived left no 
time for parley. The baron was peremptory, and deferred all 
particular conversation until the morning, and led the way 
to the untasted banquet. 

28. It was served up in the great hall of the castle. 
Around the walls hung the hard-favored portraits of the 
heroes of the house of Katzenellenbogen, and the trophies 
which they had gained in the field and in the chase. Hacked 
corselets, splintered jousting spears, and tattered banners, 
were mingled with the spoils of sylvan warfare; the jaws 
of the wolf, and the tusks of the boar, grinned horribly 
among cross-bows and battle-axes, and a huge pair of antlers 
branched immediately over the head of the youthful bride- 
groom. 

29. The cavaher took but little notice of the company or 



THE SPECTRE BRIDEGROOM 343 

the entertainment. He scarcely tasted the banquet, but 
seemed absorbed in admiration of his bride. He conversed 
in a low tone that could not be overheard — for the language 
of love is never loud ; but where is the female ear so dull that 
it cannot catch the softest whisper of the lover ? There was 
a mingled tenderness and gravity in his manner, that appeared 
to have a powerful effect upon the young lady. Her color 
came and went as she listened with deep attention. Now and 
then she made some blushing reply, and when his eye was 
turned away, she would steal a sidelong glance at his romantic 
countenance, and heave a gentle sigh of tender happiness. 
It was evident that the young couple were completely en- 
amored. The aunts, who were deeply versed in the mys- 
teries of the heart, declared that they had fallen in love with 
each other at first sight. 

30. The feast went on merrily, or at least noisily, for the 
guests were all blessed with those keen appetites that attend 
upon light purses and mountain-air. The baron told his best 
and longest stories, and never had he told them so well, or 
with such great effect. If there was anything marvellous, 
his auditors were lost in astonishment; and if anything 
facetious, they were- sure to laugh exactly in the right place. 
The baron, it is true, like most great men, was too dignified 
to utter any joke but a dull one ; it was always enforced, how- 
ever, by a bumper of excellent Hockheimer ; and even a dull 
joke, at one's own table, served up with jolly old wine, is ir- 
resistible. Many good things were said by poorer and keener 
wits, that would not bear repeating, except on similar oc- 
casions; many sly speeches whispered in ladies' ears, that 
almost convulsed them with suppressed laughter ; and a song 
or two roared out by a poor, but merry and broad-faced 
cousin of the baron, that absolutely made the maiden aunts 
hold up their fans. 

31. Amidst all this revelry, the stranger guest maintained 
a most singular and unseasonable gravity. His countenance 
assumed a deeper cast of dejection as the evening advanced ; 
and, strange as it may appear, even the baron's jokes seemed 
only to render him the more melancholy. At times he was 



344 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

lost in thought, and at times there was a perturbed and restless 
wandering of the eye that bespoke a mind but ill at ease. His 
conversations with the bride became more and more earnest 
and mysterious. Lowering clouds began to steal over the 
fair serenity of her brow, and tremors to run through her 
tender frame. 

32. All this could not escape the notice of the company. 
Their gayety was chilled by the unaccountable gloom of the 
bridegroom ; their spirits were infected ; whispers and glances 
were interchanged, accompanied by shrugs and dubious 
shakes of the head. The song and the laugh grew less and 
less frequent; there were dreary pauses in the conversation, 
which were at length succeeded by wild tales and super- 
natural legends. One dismal story produced another still 
more dismal, and the baron nearly frightened some of the 
ladies into hysterics with the history of the goblin horseman 
that carried away the fair Leonora; a dreadful story, which 
has since been put into excellent verse, and is read and 
believed by all the world. 

33. The bridegroom listened to this tale with prof oimd atten- 
tion. He kept his eyes steadily fixed on the baron, and, as the 
story drew to a close, began gradually tp rise from his seat, 
growing taller and taller, until, in the baron's entranced eye, 
he seemed almost to tower into a giant. The moment the tale 
was finished, he heaved a deep sigh, and took a solemn fare- 
well of the company. They were all amazement. The baron 
was perfectly thunderstruck. 

34. "What! going to leave the castle at midnight? why, 
everything was prepared for his reception; a chamber was 
ready for him if he wished to retire." 

35. The stranger shook his head mournfully and mysteri- 
ously; "I must lay my head in a different chamber to- 
night ! " 

36. There was something in this reply, and the tone in 
which it was uttered, that made the baron's heart misgive 
him; but he rallied his forces, and repeated his hospitable 
entreaties. 

37. The stranger shook his head silently, but positively, 



THE SPECTRE BRIDEGROOM 345 

at every offer; and, waving his farewell to the company, 
stalked slowly out of the hall. The maiden aunts were ab- 
solutely petrified ; the bride hung her head, and a tear stole 
to her eye. 

38. The baron followed the stranger to the great court of 
the castle, where the black charger stood pawing the earth, 
and snorting with impatience. — When they had reached the 
portal, whose deep archway was dimly lighted by a cresset, 
the stranger paused, and addressed the baron in a hollow 
tone of voice, which the vaulted roof rendered still more 
sepulchral. 

39. "Now that we are alone," said he, "I will impart to 
you the reason of my going. I have a solemn, and indispen- 
sable engagement" — 

"Why," said the baron, " cannot you send some one in your 
place?" 

" It admits of no substitute — I must attend it in person — 
I must away to Wiirtzburg cathedral" — 

"Ay," said the baron, plucking up spirit, "but not until 
to-morrow — to-morrow you shall take your bride there." 

"No! no!" replied the stranger, with tenfold solemnity, 
"my engagement is with no bride — the worms ! the worms 
expect me ! I am a dead man — I have been slain by rob- 
bers — my body lies at Wiirtzburg — at midnight I am to be 
buried — the grave is waiting for me — I must keep my 
appointment !" 

40. He sprang on his black charger, dashed over the draw- 
bridge, and the clattering of his horse's hoofs was lost in the 
whistling of the night-blast. 

41. The baron returned to the hall in the utmost con- 
sternation, and related what had passed. Two ladies fainted 
outright, others sickened at the idea of having banqueted with 
a spectre. It was the opinion of some, that this might be the 
wild huntsman, famous in German legend. Some talked 
of mountain sprites, of wood-demons, and of other supernatu- 
ral beings, with which the good people of Germany have 
been so grievously harassed since time immemorial. One of 
the poor relations ventured to suggest that it might be some 



346 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

sportive evasion of the young cavalier, and that the very- 
gloominess of the caprice seemed to accord with so melan- 
choly a personage. This, however, drew on him the indig- 
nation of the whole company, and especially of the baron, 
who looked upon him as Httle better than an infidel ; so that 
he was fain to abjure his heresy as speedily as possible, and 
come into the faith of the true believers. 

42. But whatever may have been the doubts entertained, 
they were completely put to an end by the arrival, next day, 
of regular missives, confirming the intelligence of the young 
count's murder, and his interment in Wiirtzburg cathedral. 

43. The dismay at the castle may well be imagined. The 
baron shut himself up in his chamber. The guests, who had 
come to rejoice with him, could not think of abandoning him 
in his distress. They wandered about the courts, or col- 
lected in groups in the hall, shaking their heads and shrug- 
ging their shoulders, at the troubles of so good a man ; and 
sat longer than ever at table, and ate and drank more stoutly 
than ever, by way of keeping up their spirits. But the situa- 
tion of the widowed bride was the most pitiable. To have 
lost a husband before she had even embraced him — and such 
a husband ! if the very spectre could be so gracious and noble, 
what must have been the living man. She filled the house 
with lamentations. 

44. On the night of the second day of her widowhood, 
she had retired to her chamber, accompanied by one of her 
aunts, who insisted on sleeping with her. The aunt, who was 
one of the best tellers of ghost-stories in all Germany, had just 
been recounting one of her longest, and had fallen asleep in 
the very midst of it. The chamber was remote, and over- 
looked a small garden. The niece lay pensively gazing at the 
beams of the rising moon, as they trembled on the leaves of 
an aspen-tree before the lattice. The castle-clock had just 
tolled midnight, when a soft strain of music stole up from the 
garden. She rose hastily from her bed, and stepped lightly 
to the window. A tall figure stood among the shadows of the 
trees. As it raised its head, a beam of moonlight fell upon 
the countenance. Heaven and earth ! she beheld the Spectre 



THE SPECTRE BRIDEGROOM 347 

Bridegroom ! A loud shriek at that moment burst upon her 
ear, and her aunt, who had been awakened by the music, and 
had followed her silently to the window, fell into her arms. 
When she looked again, the spectre had disappeared. 

45. Of the two females, the aunt now required the most 
soothing, for she was perfectly beside herself with terror. As 
to the young lady, there was something, even in the spectre 
of her lover, that seemed endearing. There was still the 
semblance of manly beauty; and though the shadow of a 
man is but little calculated to satisfy the affections of a love- 
sick girl, yet, where the substance is not to be had, even that 
is consoling. The aunt declared she would never sleep in that 
chamber again; the niece, for once, was refractory, and de- 
clared as strongly that she would sleep in no other in the 
castle : the consequence was, that she had to sleep in it alone ; 
but she drew a promise from her aunt not to relate the story 
of the spectre, lest she should be denied the only melancholy 
pleasure left her on earth — that of inhabiting the chamber 
over which the guardian shade of her lover kept its nightly 
vigils. 

46. How long the good old lady would have observed this 
promise is uncertain, for she dearly loved to talk of the mar- 
vellous, and there is a triumph in being the first to tell a 
frightful story; it is, however, still quoted in the neighbor- 
hood, as a memorable instance of female secrecy, that she 
kept it to herself for a whole week; when she was suddenly 
absolved from all further restraint, by intelligence brought 
to the breakfast-table one morning that the young lady was 
not to be found. Her room was empty — the bed had not 
been slept in — the window was open, and the bird had flown ! 

47. The astonishment and concern with which the in- 
telligence was received can only be imagined by those who 
have witnessed the agitation which the mishaps of a great 
man cause among his friends. Even the poor relations paused 
for a moment from the indefatigable labors of the trencher; 
when the aunt, who had at first been struck speechless, wrung 
her hands, and shrieked out, "The goblin ! the goblin ! she's 
carried away by the goblin!" 



348 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

48. In a few words she related the fearful scene of 
the garden, and concluded that the spectre must have car- 
ried off his bride. Two of the domestics corroborated the 
opinion, for they had heard the clattering of a horse's hoofs 
down the mountain about midnight, and had no doubt 
that it was the spectre on his black charger, bearing her 
away to the tomb. All present were struck with the dire- 
ful probability; for events of the kind are extremely com- 
mon in Germany, as many well-authenticated histories bear 
witness. 

49. What a lamentable situation was that of the poor 
baron ! What a heart-rending dilemma for a fond father, 
and a member of the great family of Katzenellenbogen ! His 
only daughter had either been rapt away to the grave, or 
he was to have some wood-demon for a son-in-law, and, per- 
chance, a troop of goblin grandchildren. As usual, he was 
completely bewildered, and all the castle in an uproar. The 
men were ordered to take horse, and scour every road and 
path and glen of the Odenwald. The baron himself had just 
drawn on his jack-boots, girded on his sword and was about 
to mount his steed to sally forth on the doubtful quest, when 
he was brought to a pause by a new apparition. A lady was 
seen approaching the castle, mounted on a palfrey, attended 
by a cavalier on horseback. She galloped up to the gate, 
sprang from her horse, and falling at the baron's feet, em- 
braced his knees. It was his lost daughter, and her com- 
panion — the Spectre Bridegroom ! The baron was as- 
tounded. He looked at his daughter, then at the spectre, and 
almost doubted the evidence of his senses. The latter, too, 
was wonderfully improved in his appearance since his visit 
to the world of spirits. His dress was splendid, and set off 
a noble figure of manly symmetry. He was no longer pale 
and melancholy. His fine countenance was flushed with the 
glow of youth, and joy rioted in his large dark eye. 

50. The mystery was soon cleared up. The cavaher (for, 
in truth, as you must have known all the while, he was no 
goblin) announced himself as Sir Herman Von Starkenfaust. 
He related his adventure with the young count. He told 



THE SPECTRE BRIDEGROOM 349 

how he had hastened to the castle to deUver the unwelcome 
tidings, but that the eloquence of the baron had inter- 
rupted him in every attempt to tell his tale. How the sight 
of the bride had completely captivated him, and that to pass 
a few hours near her, he had tacitly suffered the mistake to 
continue. How he had been sorely perplexed in what way to 
make a decent retreat, until the baron's goblin stories had 
suggested his eccentric exit. How, fearing the feudal hostility 
of the family, he had repeated his visits by stealth — had 
haunted the garden beneath the young lady's window — had 
wooed — had won — had borne away in triumph — and, in 
a word, had wedded the fair. 

51. Under any other circumstances the baron would have 
been inflexible, for he was tenacious of paternal authority, 
and devoutly obstinate in all family feuds ; but he loved his 
daughter ; he had lamented her as lost ; he rej oiced to find her 
still alive ; and, though her husband was of a hostile house, 
yet, thank Heaven, he was not a goblin. There was some- 
thing, it must be acknowledged, that did not exactly accord 
with his notions of strict veracity, in the joke the knight had 
passed upon him of his being a dead man; but several old 
friends present, who had served in the wars, assured him that 
every stratagem was excusable in love, and that the cavalier 
was entitled to especial privilege, having lately served as a 
trooper. 

52, Matters, therefore, were happily arranged. The baron 
pardoned the young couple on the spot. The revels at the 
castle were resumed. The poor relations overwhelmed this 
new member of the family with loving-kindness; he was so 
gallant, so generous — and so rich. The aunts, it is true, 
were somewhat scandalized that their system of strict seclu- 
sion and passive obedience should be so badly exemplified, but 
attributed it all to their negligence in not having the windows 
grated. One of them was particularly mortified at having her 
marvellous story marred, and that the only spectre she had 
ever seen should turn out a counterfeit ; but the niece seemed 
perfectly happy at having found him substantial flesh and 
blood — and so the story ends. 



L'ENVOY ' 

Go, little booke, God send thee good passage, 
And specially let this be thy prayere, 
Unto them all that thee will read or hear, 
Where thou art wrong, after their help to call. 
Thee to correct in any part or all. 

— Chaucer's Belle Dame sans Mercie, 

1. In concluding a second volume of the Sketch-Book, the 
Author cannot but express his deep sense of the indulgence 
with which his first has been received, and of the liberal dis- 
position that has been evinced to treat him with kindness as 
a stranger. Even the critics, whatever may be said of them 
by others, he has found to be a singularly gentle and good- 
natured race ; it is true that each has in turn objected to some 
one or two articles, and that these individual exceptions, 
taken in the aggregate, would amount almost to a total con- 
demnation of his work; but then he has been consoled by 
observing, that what one has particularly censured another 
has as particularly praised ; and thus, the encomiums being 
set off against the objections, he finds his work, upon the 
whole, commended far beyond its deserts. 

2. He is aware that he runs a risk of forfeiting much of this 
kind favor by not allowing the counsel that has been lib- 
erally bestowed upon him ; for where abundance of valuable 
advice is given gratis, it may seem a man's own fault if he 
should go astray. He can only say, in his vindication, that 
he faithfully determined, for a time, to govern himself in his 
second volume by the opinions passed upon his first; but 
he was soon brought to a stand by the contrariety of excel- 
lent counsel. One kindly advised him to avoid the ludicrous; 
another to shun the pathetic; a third assured him that he 
was tolerable at description, but cautioned him to leave 

^ Closing the second volume of the London edition. 
350 



l'envoy 351 

narrative alone ; while a fourth declared that he had a very 
pretty knack at turning a story, and was really entertaining 
when in a pensive mood, but was grievously, mistaken if he 
imagined himself to possess a spirit of humor. 

3. Thus perplexed by the advice of his friends, who each 
in turn closed some particular path^ but left him all the world 
beside to range in, he found that to follow all their counsels 
would, in fact, be to stand still. He remained for a time 
sadly embarrassed; when, all at once, the thought struck 
him to ramble on as he had begun ; that his work being mis- 
cellaneous, and written for different humors, it could not be 
expected that any one would be pleased with the whole; but 
that if it should contain something to suit each reader, his 
end would be completely answered. Few guests sit down to 
a varied table with an equal appetite for every dish. One 
has an elegant horror of a roasted pig ; another holds a curry 
or a devil in utter abomination; a third cannot tolerate the 
ancient flavor of venison and wild-fowl; and a fourth, of 
truly masculine stomach, looks with sovereign contempt on 
those knickknacks, here and there dished up for the ladies. 
Thus each article is condemned in its turn ; and yet amidst this 
variety of appetites, seldom does a dish go away from the table 
without being tasted and relished by some one or other of the 
guests. 

4. With these considerations he ventures to serve up this 
second volume in the same heterogeneous way with his first ; 
simply requesting the reader if he should find here and there 
something to please him, to rest assured that it was written 
expressly for intelligent readers like himself; but entreating 
him, should he find anything to dislike, to tolerate it, as one 
of those articles which the author has been obliged to write 
for readers of a less refined taste. 

5. To be serious. — The author is conscious of the numer- 
ous faults and imperfections of his work ; and well aware how 
little he is disciplined and accomplished in the arts of author- 
ship. His deficiencies are also increased by a diffidence arising 
from his peculiar situation. He finds himself writing in a 
strange land, and appearing before a pubUc which he has been 



352 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

accustomed, from childhood, to regard with the highest feel- 
ings of awe and reverence. He is full of solicitude to deserve 
their approbation, yet finds that very solicitude continually 
embarrassing his powers, and depriving him of that ease and 
confidence which are necessary to successful exertion. Still 
the kindness with which he is treated encourages him to go 
on, hoping that in time he may require a steadier footing ; and 
thus he proceeds, half venturing, half shrinking, surprised 
at his own good fortune, and wondering at his own temerity. 



TOPICS FOR STUDY 
THE AUTHOR 

1. Why should it be easy to remember the date of Irving 's 

birth? 

2. In what part of the city of New York was the home in 
- which Irving grew up ? When was it pulled down ? 

3. What was the position and occupation of the father of 

Irving ? 

4. How did the war of the Revolution affect the fortunes 

of his parents ? 

5. Irving's brothers and sisters; make a list, or diagram, 

of the children in this family for reference, and add 
to it as you find out residence, occupation, etc., of 
each one. 

6. Irving's education : — 

a. Schools attended; time spent in each; character as 

a student. 
h. At what age did Irving begin to study law ? 

c. Compare Irving's education at that time with the 

present requirement for entrance to law schools. 

d. Why did Irving enter on the study of law ? 

7. Irving's reading : — 

a. Make a list of books read by Irving before he was 

' eighteen. 

b. Compare your list with the list of books read by Scott 

in the same years : — 

(1) What class of books did both lads like? 

(2) Of what books was Scott more fond than Irving ? 

(3) Of what books was Irving more fond than Scott ? 

(4) What is the difference between the reading of 
these boys and the reading of a boy of the same 
age, now? 

353 



354 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

8. How early did Irving show an unusual fondness for 

travel? Did he travel more or less than other boys 
at that time ? 

9. An outline of Irving's life up to his first voyage to Eu- 

rope, showing his places of residence, occupations, 
journeys, and other notable experiences. 

Note. — This outline should be placed in the note-book in con- 
venient form for reference. 

10. Trace on the map all excursions and journeys made by 

Irving before his first trip to Europe. 

11. First trip to Europe: — 

a. How old was Irving ? How came he to go ? 

h. Geographical outline of Irving's journey, showing 

places visited, time spent, etc. Trace route on 

map of Europe. 

c. What noted persons did Irving meet on this trip? 

d. Where and in what ways did the fact of war between 

England and France affect Irving? 

e. How many times did Irving find himself in circum- 

stances arising in some way from acts of Napoleon ? 

/. What personal acquaintances or friends did Irving 
make while in Europe ? 

g. What do you find in histories about the United States 
government and the pirates of the Mediterranean ? 
Why had this government any concern about pi- 
rates so far away? Who was president at that 
time? 

h. Describe briefly Irving's experiences with the picca- 
roon pirates of the Mediterranean. 

See "Life and Letters," I, 65, and 245-247. 

12. Irving at home, 1806-1815 : — 

a. An outline of Irving's life, showing places of residence 

occupations, writings, journeys, etc. 
h. What events in this period of Irving's life were most 

important, — that is, affected most the future 

course of his life? 
c. How did the War of 1812 affect the prosperity of the 

family ? 



TOPICS FOR STUDY 355 

d. What was Irving's military rank and title during the 

War of 1812? 

e. How long was he connected with the army? What 

actual service did he see ? 
/. What was the plan of the partnership of the Irving 
brothers? Why was it arranged? 

13. Early literary work of Washington Irving: — 

a. When did Irving begin to write ? Under what nom- 
de-plume were his first writings published? 

h. Who were the "Lads of Kilkenny"? Under what 
names did they write ? 

c. What book was begun soon after this time by Peter and 

Washington Irving? Give an account of Irving 's 
scheme for advertising and introducing this book. 

d. Show in outline, with dates, all important writings 

of Irving published before 1815. 

14. Second trip to Europe, during which "The Sketch-Book" 

was written : — 

a. What was the occasion of Irving's second trip to 
Europe ? How long did he remain ? 

6. How old was Irving at the time of the voyage which 
is the subject of the second paper in "The Sketch- 
Book"? 

15. "The Author's Account of Himself": — 

a. How does Irving explain, in this paper, ^lis "rambling 

propensity"? 

b. What reasons does he give for thinking Europe more 

interesting to a traveller than our own country ? 

c. What is the meaning of the name of his book ? 

THE VOYAGE 

1. The real voyage: — 

a. When was steam first used on the Hudson river? 

b. In what year did a steamship cross the ocean for the 

first time ? 

c. How long did it take to cross the ocean at the time of 

Irving 's voyage? 



356 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

d. What expedition had Irving been invited to ac- 

company to the Mediterranean? What historical 
event changed his plan? Why? 

e. What considerations influenced Irving when deciding 

to go to Europe ? 

Note, — A description of travel on the Hudson in the boyhood days 
of Irving will be found in "Life and Letters," Vol. I, p. 17; also, 
quoted, p. 259. The time of the return vo^^age of Irving's first trip is 
given in "Life and Letters," Vol. I, p. 118. For some account of 
ocean travel early in the nineteenth century, see McMaster's "His- 
tory of the People of the United States," Vol. I, pp. 50-51. 

2. Irving's essay, "The Voyage": — 

a. Write in your own words Irving's idea of the differ- 
ence in effect on the mind of a sea voyage and of a 
land journey. Do you think that this difference 
would be the same, now, when sea voyages are so 
much shorter? 

b. Choose some short land journey that you have 

taken, and write of the method of travel, of your 
experiences, and of the effect on your own mind. 
Do not try to imitate Irving's account of his voy- 
age; let your composition be a truthful record of 
your own experiences. 

c. Write in your own words the effect of the sea voyage 

upon Irving. In order to do this well, you 
should begin with an account of Irving's char- 
acter and temperament, and speak of his mental 
traits and habits. If you wish, write in the first 
person as a fellow- voyager, who has been watching 
Irving, and has, in some way, learned his thoughts. 

d. Study the paragraphs of "The Voyage," from the 

fourth to the end of the essay, and make an outline 
of the subjects of meditation or interest mentioned 
by Irving ; show especially why each suggested the 
next and how the author passed from one topic to 
another without making an abrupt change. 

Note. — This is the most important topic for study under "The 
Voyage," and should be developed in detail. Each pupil may learn 
from it much about the arrangement of matter in his own narrative 
essays. 



TOPICS FOR STUDY 357 

e. Why did Irving represent himself in this essay as 
having arrived a stranger, without friends, in a 
foreign land? What were the facts of the case? 



RURAL LIFE IN ENGLAND 

1. "Rural Life in England'' was published in 1819; exam- 

ine Irving 's life and inquire : — 

a. What means of knowing rural life in England he 

then had. 

b. What parts of England he knew best. 

2. Irving begins this essay by an observation about the 

proper means of forming an opinion of the Enghsh 
character; how does he lead the reader from this 
beginning to the subject of par. 3, "The Enghsh, in 
fact, are strongly gifted with rural feehng''? 

3. In how many ways does he support this statement? 

4. Paragraphs 4 and 5 contrast the Englishman in the city 

with the Enghshman in the country; what statement 
in the preceding paragraphs does this contrast prove 
and illustrate ? 

5. Show whether the order in which Irving has written these 

paragraphs can be changed, — that is, show by good 
reason for or against, whether par. 4 may be placed 
after par. 5. 

6. How is rural hfe made more attractive in England than 

in the United States ? 

7. What is the effect of this different rural life upon : — 

a. The individual. 

b. The community. 

c. Social relations. 

d. National life and characteristics. 

Note.— Letter xci, in ''A Citizen of the World," by Oliver Gold- 
smith, IS entitled, "The Influence of Climate and Soil upon the Tem- 
pers and Dispositions of the English." 

8. After studying Irving's plan for this essay, let each stu- 

dent imagine himself a visitor from a distant state 
or country, and try to write an essay on rural life in his 



358 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

own neighborhood, which will make clear general char- 
acteristics in a way that seems attractive and fair. 

Note. — The class exercise should consist in the comparison and 
criticism of the points chosen for the essays, and in discussion of the 
fairness and fulness of the presentation. The important point is to 
secure original observation and consideration of local environment 
instead of mere imitation of Irving 's essay. Stevenson once wrote an 
essay in which he attempted the task suggested above, " The For- 
eigner at Home," in "Memories and Portraits." 

9. At the conclusion of the study of " Rural Life in England/ 
let each student make an outline of the essay showing : — 
a. The introduction, with the steps of transition to the 

real subject of the essay. 
h. The main points of the essay, and under each one 
the reasons, proofs, etc., by which the author 
seeks to establish his point, 
c. The conclusions of the author. 
10. The quotation with which Irving closes is from a poem 
but little read at the present time ; let each mem- 
ber of the class find, if he can, some quotation that 
he likes better expressing the same sentiment. 

Note. — When these selections are presented, the teacher should 
discuss with the class the suitability of each in style, and adaptation 
to the prose of the essay, as well as in thought ; and in the end, the 
best may be selected by the vote of the class. 

THE COUNTRY CHURCH 

1. What was Irving 's chief interest in his travels? Bring 

illustrations both from his life and from his writings 
in proof of your points. 

2. What was the personal relation, or point of view, of the 

writer of this essay to the country church and its con- 
gregation ? 

3. Paragraphs 1-4 are for the purpose of describing (a) the 

church; (6) the congregation; (c) the vicar; {d) the 
stranger in the pew. There is some common ele- 
ment, or point of view, running through 1-3, — what 
is it? 

4. Paragraph 4 faces both ways : — 



TOPICS FOR STUDY 359 

a. What is the' relation of par. 4 to the first three para- 
graphs ? 

h. What shows that this paragraph is the close of the 
introduction ? 

c. What shows it to be the beginning of the main part 
of the essay ? 

5. In the description of the church, what is the description 

of detail intended to show? 

6. Does the description of the congregation or of the noble 

family illustrate any part of the essay, " Rural Life in 
England"? 

7. The two families : — 

a. Make parallel outlines of Irving 's description of the 
two families, show the characteristics of each, and 
point out the contrast. 

8. Show what illustrations of the characteristics described 

above, Irving gives in the succeeding paragraphs. 

9. What conclusion did the writer of the essay reach? 

How is this conclusion impressed upon readers ? 
10. Review topic : outline the essay, showing each part, with 
all pertinent detail. 

THE WIDOW AND HER SON 

In the essays, "Rural Life in England," "The Country 

Church," and "The Widow and Her Son," Irving speaks of 

English landscapes in three different aspects: (a) . . . the 

taste of the English in what is called landscape gardening, . . . 

(b) the peculiar charm of English landscape, . . . (c) . . . the 

passive quiet of an English landscape on Sunday. Each aspect 

of English landscape scenery is chosen with reference to what 

the author wished to say in the body of his essay : — 

1. Show, in each essay, what point of view he wishes 

the reader to take, and how he uses the aspect of the 

landscape as a setting for the more serious matter to 

follow. 

Note. — Each pupil should find and express in words, spoken or 
written, the aspect of the landscape defined by Irving in the early 
part of the essay; the transitions from this point of view should be 



360 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

definitely pointed out, and finally, as far as possible, Irving 's choice 
of point of view must be shown to correspond with the feeling and 
spirit of the main part of the essay. The attempt to exchange the 
point of view chosen by Irving for "The Widow and Her Son" with 
the one which serves as starting point for "Rural Life in England," 
may illustrate the distinction between them. 

2. What is the general statement with which this essay 

begins ? 

3. By what steps of transition is the reader's attention led 

from the general statement to the poor widow? 

4. a. Where does the story of the traveller, or author, 

begin? Where does it end? 
h. Outline the narrator's story, showing every step of his 
interest in, and knowledge of, the widow's story. 

5. a. Where in the essay does the poor widow's story begin? 

Where does it end ? 
h. Outline the widow's story in the order in which the 
narrator learned it. 

6. a. Where in the narrator's story does the incident of the 

meeting with the widow's friend come? 

b. Where in the widow's story does the incident of the 

friend come? 

c. Outline the story told by the widow's friend. Where 

does this story begin ? Where does it end ? 

7. Make an outline of the story that Irving had in mind 

but did not tell, the story of the life of George Somers 
and his parents. 

8. Are there places in this story for which Irving did not give 

particulars ? 

Note. — Each one may invent detail, when necessary. Comparison 
in class will reveal which invention is most in accord with Irving 's 
narrative. 

9. Show where each one of the stories told in the essay is 

made to fit in with the others. 

1. CHRISTMAS 

1. Show how from the general statement Irving at last 
brings the reader to the point of view of special interest 
in the revival of Christmas customs now obsolete. 



TOPICS FOE STUDY 361 

2. Show how and where, throughout the essay, Irving in- 

fuses a personal point of view. 

3. Define this personal point of view and show the elements 

that enter into it. 

4. What, in this essay, seems distinctly a preparation for 

the series of papers to come ? 
5 Make an outline of this essay, showing clearly : — 
a. The general statement and introduction. 
h. The steps by which the general statement is narrowed 
to a statement of the subject of the essays. 
6. Show the transitions or changes by which Irving passes 
from topic to topic. 

2. THE STAGE-COACH 

For an account of roads and travel in England at the time 
of Irving's journey see "London in the Eighteenth Century," 
by Sir Walter Besant, Chap. iv. This most picturesque ac- 
count of a coach, coachman, and passengers is dated July 27, 
1827. 

1. Why did Irving choose Yorkshire for the scene of this 

essay ? 

2. What is the role of "I" in "The Stage-Coach''? 

3. How many characters enter into this essay? 

4. Which of these characters interested Irving most? 

5. Which interests the reader most? Why? 

6. How many things in this journey depend upon the fact 

that it was on the day before Christmas ? 

7. Why does Irving describe the coachman so particularly? 

Note. — Dickens description of Tony Weller, an English coach- 
man, will be found in "Pickwick Papers," Chap, xxiii. 

8. When did travelling by coach cease to be the common 

means of conveyance in England? 

9. What did Irving see from the coach windows? 

10. How did Irving's journey end? 

11. How many times in this essay are you reminded that 

Irving was a stranger in the land, and far from his own 
home, at a time when he would best like to be there ? 



362 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

12. How many points do you find in this essay in which cus- 

toms in England differ from customs in America under 
similar circumstances? 

13. Give names to the little boys and to all members of their 

family referred to in the essay, then make an outline 
of their story. Notice that in their story Washington 
Irving was only one of their fellow-travellers, perhaps 
a little more interesting than the others because he 
came from America. 

14. Make an outline of the essay, "The Stage-Coach," fitting 

into it such parts of the boy's story as belong in it. 

15. A written paper, in which the boy's story is told. 

Note. — This story may be divided into chapters according to the 
outline, and each pupil may write one. 

3. CHRISTMAS EVE 

1. The ride and the arrival: — 

a. What incidents of the ride are given? 

Note. — This question is intended to lead the student to select 
from the pages everything of the nature of action, — "alight and 
walk through the park," etc. The narrative element is very slight; 
it serves as transition, as a means of exciting personal interest, and 
it also aids the reader in picturing the scenes described. 

6. What suggested the topics of conversation on this 
ride? 

c. Why did a walk through the grounds please Irving 

better than the drive would have done ? 

d. How many indications of the character of the Squire 

do you find in the conversation, or narrative, up to 
the ringing of the doorbell ? 

2. The introduction : — 

a. How many persons were there in the company that 
Irving found in the hall? Which of these were 
members of the Squire's family? 

6. What indications or hints of characteristics and 
peculiarities are given in the introduction scene? 

3. What is your first impression of the Squire? 

4. What would the visitor's impression of the Squire have 



TOPICS FOR STUDY 363 

been had he learned nothing about him before he was 
presented ? 

5. Write briefly the son's real opinion of his father as you 

infer it from the narrative. 

6. How did Irving manage to introduce a description of the 

hall in the midst of the narrative ? Was it important 
to describe the hall at this point? 

7. a. Which of the persons present in the hall attracted the 

visitor most? Why? 
b. Which interests the reader most? 

8. For what special purpose is the character of Master Simon 

introduced ? 

9. Why did Irving call attention to the family portraits? 

10. What marked the close of Christmas eve for Irving? 

11. In how many respects would this celebration of Christmas 

eve seem unreal, or like a dream of an olden time, to a 
visitor from America? 

4. CHRISTMAS DAY 

1. Make an outline showing all the incidents or acts of this 

day, in the order in which they took place. 

2. Draw an imaginary map or plan of the manor, the build- 

ings mentioned, and the village, and mark a route for 
the walk. 

3. Why did Irving begin his account of the day with a 

description of the scene from the window? 

4. Examine all the Christmas papers and make an estimate 

of the number of persons in the family of the Squire at 
this time ; of the number of servants belonging to the 
• haU. 

5. Make a list of all the things that specially interested 

Irving during the day. Which one interested him 
most? How can you tell? 

6. Which of the observances of the day were new and 

strange to Irving, the American ? 

7. Which one of all the old Christmas customs of the day 

would you care most to see ? Why ? 



864 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

8. What do you learn of the humors and whims of the Squire 

on this day? 

9. Do you learn anything new about other persons? 

10. What did Irving consider the most important moment 

of the day ? 

11. What incident forms the close of this essay? 

5. THE CHRISTMAS DINNER 

1. Write from memory and imagination a description of this 

hall, drawing at the top of the page some plan that 
will represent your idea of its form, arrangement, 
etc., and showing fireplace, windows, sideboard, 
table, etc. 

2. Irving speaks of the makeshifts by which ''that worthy 

old humorist," the Squire, endeavored "to follow up 
the quaint customs of antiquity." If you suppose that 
the Squire and all his family entered into the revival 
of these old customs as a sort of play, select from the 
narrative every one you find and show how it was 
carried out. 

Note. — If there are in the school Hbrary books suitable for this 
use, the members of the class rnay find the origin and early observance 
in England of customs mentioned in this essay. Illustrations show- 
ing old holiday customs, games, etc., should be sought and exhibited 
in class. An "art loan exhibit" to illustrate Irving 's Christmas 
papers might prove profitable and delightful. For books of reference 
for this use, see Bibliography, page 411. 

3. Write from your own knowledge an account of a Christ- 

mas dinner in this country and of the entertainments 
that follow it. 

4. Compare the entertainments of Christmas day in Eng- 

land with the customs and festivities of the day in the 
United States, pointing out every difference. 

5. In all these papers, what unusual dishes and drinks are 

mentioned ? Are any of these in use now ? 



TOPICS FOR STUDY 365 



GENERAL TOPICS ON THE CHRISTMAS ESSAYS 

1. Make an outline of the story, or action, running through 

all the essays. 

2. Make an outline of the observances of an old-fashioned 

Christmas which would serve as a guide for any one 
who wished to repeat them. 

3. Write a comparison of the old time and of the present, 

discussing : — 
a. The relation of each to the family life. 
h. The enjoyment, in each, of the young people, of the 
older people, of servants and dependents. 

LITTLE BRITAIN 

1. Read the last paragraph of ''London Antiques," page 

119, and be prepared to rewrite it briefly in class, stating 
its essential meaning and its relation to the essay, 
"Little Britain." 

2. Geographical: — 

a. Where is Brittany? Why would the Dukes of Brit- 
tany at any time have wished to have residences 
in London? 

h. What little Duke of Brittany was once held a prisoner 
by his uncle? 

c. Why were walls built around the old city of London ? 
When did they cease to be of use ? Why ? 

Note. — Teachers should give references to such Enghsh histories, 
pictures, or maps as may be found in the hbrary. For the Httle Duke 
of Brittany, see the story of Hubert de Burgh and Arthur in Shake- 
speare's " King John," Act IV, scene 1. 

3. In this essay the author is an imaginary person much 

like Irving in nature and disposition, but with a dis- 
position which it pleased Irving to represent as very 
different from his own. Imagine the story of this 
man's life in outline, showing : — • 

a. His age. 

6. His appearance. 



366 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

c. His occupations, places of residence, etc. 

d. Explain how he came to be interested in antiquarian 

lore. 

e. For what reason did he reside in this part of London ? 

Note. — Squire Bracebridge was in many respects very different 
from the author of this essay ; compare the two men and show the 
special interest each felt, how it differed from the other man's, 
and the reasons for the difference. 

4. How many sources of information about Little Britain 

does Irving imagine the old gentleman to have had? 

Note. — Examine the essay carefully for indirect evidence on this 
point. 

5. How many of the city wonders mentioned by Irving in 

this essay have you read of, either in histories, or in 
reading books, or in stories? 

Note. — For each, some incident, fact, or association, especially 
of persons, should be given, and references to books should be re- 
quired, as far as practicable. 

6. In par. 17, Irving says, " Little Britain has long flourished " 

. . . and goes on to state the point of view or purpose 
he has in mind in writing this essay. Make a plan for 
this essay as if you had it to write ; in order to do this, 
study the essay carefully that you may really find 
hidden in the pleasant paragraphs Irving 's own plan. 
The plan must show the general divisions of the essay, 
as, i. Location; (ii, — ); iii. Traces of former splen- 
dor, etc. Subdivisions, which will consist of particu- 
lars, illustrations, proof, etc., must also be given, and 
the pupil must be able, in class, to tell how to pass from 
one great division to the next. Irving will always 
show him some graceful means of transition. 

This plan may include only that part of the essay 
designed to describe and illustrate the notable features 
of "Little Britain" and the characteristics of the 
people living there; that is, all paragraphs up to the 
nineteenth. 

7. What excuse had Irving for enumerating ao many old 

saws and superstitions? 



TOPICS FOR STUDY 367 

8. Compare the two rival oracles so as to show the difference 

between them. 
a. Which was himself the more superstitious ? 
h. Which one shared more nearly the beliefs and super- 
stitions of the ordinary inhabitants of the city? 
Why do you think so ? 

c. For how many of these superstitions or beliefs can 

you give an instance from your own knowledge, of 
some one who really believes in the notion and has 
acted on his belief? 

d. A great many of our proverbs and saws have been 

derived from our forefathers in England, or in 
some European country; write on a slip of paper 
all the proverbs you yourself know. 

Note. — If these are placed on the board or read in class, it will 
be interesting to notice how many times the same one is given. The 
teacher can often tell in a moment whether the proverb is an old 
English saying, or is borrowed from some other country. 

9. The story of the aspiring family of the Lambs and of how 

Little Britain regarded them : — 
a. Make an outline of the story of the Lamb family, 

adding from your own imagination details not 

given by the author. 
h. Write the story of the family as told by one of its 

members. The story may be in chapters. 

c. Write an account of society in Little Britain, by a 

member of the Lamb family. 

d. Write a description, with comment, of the Lamb 

family, by some member of the rival family in 
Little Britain. 

e. Compare the Lamb family with the aspiring family 

in "The Country Church." Make your own points 
for the comparison, after examining both descrip- 
tions, but be sure to show the differences in the 
families, in the manner of life, and also in Irving 's 
point of view. 
10. Why did Irving introduce the story of the Lamb family 
at the close of this essay? 



868 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

11. Irving' s note-hook. 

Note. — This essay is full of antiquarian lore gathered by Irving 
from old books and pictures, from rambles and conversations with per- 
sons fond of research. The material with which he began may be 
extracted from the essay and entered in a note-book as if for the 
writing of another essay. The following topics may be assigned, 
one to each member of the class, or each may choose the one he likes 
best, and the note-book on this topic may be presented as a written 
lesson. If the school library is good and there is time, let the note- 
book have two divisions : (a) Irving 's note-book; (b) items which 
may be added to Irving 's note-book. These (1) must be pertinent 
to the subject ; (2) must increase the pleasure of the reader in the 
essay. The following topics are suggested : — 

a. The location and history of Little Britain. 

b. The evidences of past splendor. 

c. The superstitions and customs of the people. 

d. The objects of interest to sight-seers and travellers. 

e. Old games, — how each is played. 
/. Great events : — 

(1) St. Bartholomew's fair. 

(2) The Lord Mayor's day. 

g. Temple Bar and the freedom of the city. 
h. Old English manners and customs. 

12. If a great library, or a good collection of illustrated books 

and prints, is accessible, ''Little Britain" may be illus- 
trated with great pleasure and profit. There are many 
pictures of old streets, city gates, taverns, markets, 
etc., within this small district of the ancient city. 



A SUNDAY IN LONDON 

1. Make an outline showing: — 

a. The general statement used as introduction. 
h. The clew for the selection of particulars. 

c. The grouping of particulars. 

d. Explain the reason for the order of the groups. 

e. Point out the transitions, or changes, by which the 

author passes from one group to the next. 

2. Test the outline by the following questions : — 

a. In "The Widow and her Son," Irving describes the 
effect of the landscape on the mind on that day ; 



TOPICS FOR STUDY 369 

in London, there is no landscape, — what does 
Irving choose, instead, as the best means of show- 
ing the sacred influence of the Sabbath? 

b. In this essay, Irving describes the habitual routine of 

life in London, on Sunday, for a church-going 
family; make an outline showing this customary 
routine, as he describes it. 

c. Make an outline showing the customary routine of 

life, on Sunday, for a church-going family living in 
a city in the United States. 

d. Make an outline showing the routine of life on Sunday 

for a family living in the country in the United 
States. 

e. Write a short comparison of the English habit of life 

on the Sabbath, according to Washington Irving, 
and of the American, speaking especially of points 
of similarity and of differences. 

LONDON ANTIQUES 

1. What did Irving substitute, in this essay, for his usual 

form of introduction ? 

2. The author's apology for an odd taste for relics of a " fore- 

gone world " : — 
a. Describe the character and personality which Irving 
assumes in this essay ; is the personality that of his 
own true self? How can you best prove or dis- 
prove this point ? 

3. The first excursion of the antiquity hunter: — 

a. In pars. 1, 2, 3, is the reader most interested in the 
person making the excursion, or in the discoveries 
made by him? Why? 

h. Which did the author intend should interest most ? 

4. The antiquity hunter's subsequent tour : — 

a. What first attracted Irving 's attention and excited 

his interest? 

b. Did he know what place he had really come upon 

when he entered, do you think ? 



370 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

c. When did the impression of mystery begin for 

Irving ? What began it ? 

d. Find everything which added to this feeUng, up to 

the open door, par. 5. 
5. In this essay, Irving pleases himself with fancies, and 
each place he saw was an excuse for a new reverie. 

a. What suggested his first fanciful supposition and 

what was it? 

b. What, a little later, started him on another reverie, 

and what form did this supposition take ? 

c. What suggestion did the strange appearance of the 

room described in pars. 8 and 9 bring to his mind ? 

d. What effect had the discovery of John Hallum on 

Irving 's fancies? Why? 

e. What was Irving's purpose in describing, briefly, the 

past life and occupations of John Hallum ? 
/. Why did not Irving first tell readers what place he had 

found, then describe it, and, finally, give his own 

reveries and fancies ? 
g. If he had chosen this order for his essay, how should he 

have changed his reveries ? Why ? 
h. Why was it necessary to use "P.S." before par. 14? 

Note. — Read here Thackeray's description of the pensioners of 
Charterhouse in "The Newcomes." 

Pictures, descriptions in histories, or in literature, names of fa- 
mous persons connected with Charterhouse school, may be given 
here. The map should be used, and guide books will be very useful. 
Best of all, for the use of schoolboys, is the Charterhouse in Bell's 
Series of " Handbooks to Great Public Schools," with its many 
illustrations; see Bibliography. 

THE BOAR'S HEAD TAVERN, EASTCHEAP 

1. What is the general observation with which Irving began 

this essay? What inference did he draw from it? 

2. AVTiat connection is there between the subject of the 

second paragraph and the observation of the first? 

3. In what, in previous paragraphs, did Irving find a start- 

ing-point for the remarks he wished to make about 
himself? 



TOPICS FOR STUDY 371 

4. Where is the real starting-point of this essay? 

5. What was Irving's point of view in reading the old play? 

Note. — Notice, here, Thackeray's comparison of the heroes 
of history with Robinson Crusoe, Mariner. See the beginning of 
Thackeray's Essay on Steele, " English Humorists." 

Adventures on the way: — 

Explanation. — Irving started out with three purposes 
in mind : — 

a. To find all that really remained of the old buildings, 
all genuine relics, etc. 

h. To find whether the inhabitants of the neighborhood 
believed in the reality of Shakespeare's scenes and 
characters. 

c. To imagine the old scenes and characters as still exist- 
ing, and thus, as it were, transport himself into their 
midst and convince himself of the reality of all 
that his imagination had dwelt upon. 

Note. — In considering the following topics, Irving's point of view 
and purposes should be kept in mind. Irving's adventures on the 
way were exciting only because his intimate knowledge of English 
history and of literature enabled him to call to mind persons, events, 
or scenes associated with each spot that he visited. Students, 
however young, should have a small fund of similar knowledge, and, 
if one is ignorant, the books in the library will serve each boy or girl 
as well as they served Irving himself. 

6. Topics : — 

a. Locate the places mentioned in par. 7. 
6. Explain the literary or historical references, as far as 
you are able. 

7. What information did Irving gain from the tallow 

chandler's widow? 

8. Whom did Irving seek next? 

9. Of what use in the essay are pars. 15 and 16? 

10. Why was Irving pleased to discover the tomb of Robert 

Preston ? 

11. Where did he go next? In search of what? 

12. What interested him first? What discoveries did he 

make here? 

13. In the conclusion of this essay, what references do you 

find to the opening paragraphs ? Why were they made ? 



372 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

14. Summary: — 

a. How many names of old taverns, or inns, does Irving 

mention in "Little Britain"? 

b. Find as many names and pictures as you can of old 

inns existing in London between the time of Queen 
Elizabeth and the time of George the First. 

Note. — Examine English histories, "Shakespeare's London" (see 
BibUography, p. 411), Gallows's "Old English Taverns, "etc., fornames 
and illustrations. 

c. The Mason's Arms: This is described as if it were a 

survival of the time of The Boar's Head, and Irving 
pleases himself with imagining that it is indeed 
the old tavern. Point out all the resemblances 
noticed, or imagined, by him. 

d. What real relics or antiquities did Irving find 

on this pilgrimage? What information did he 
gain ? 

e. What suggestions of Shakespeare's scenes or char- 

acters did real persons or places supply for his 

imagination to work upon? 
/. What did the people whom he found know, care, or 

believe about the old tavern and the characters of 

Shakespeare's play? 
g. How many real persons of modern London did Irving 

introduce in this essay in order to give it narrative 

form? Can you describe from his account the 

appearance, character, and manner of life of 

each? 

Note. — Note-book outlines should be made, showing the informa- 
tion on each point given in the essay. One outline may then be 
chosen as a guide for a written description; it will soon be evident 
to what extent the writer must draw upon his own imagination for 
details. 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY 

Preliminary. — The plan of the abbey and enclosure makes 
it possible to trace Irving's route as he passed from place to 
place, and therefore to realize his point of view in describing 



TOPICS FOR STUDY 373 

special features. A pictorial key which may be used to 
illustrate further this essay is given in the Bibliography, and 
explanation of the plan and the special points of view will 
be found in the Notes. 

1. Topics. — Let each member of the class prepare a note 

on Westminster Abbey to take the place of Irving 's 
note in the Appendix, using histories and other books 
of reference accessible in the library. That note shall 
be called best which is : — 
a. Packed fullest of information about the history of the 

abbey. 
h. Which is most interesting and attractive in the read- 
ing. 
c. Which corresponds best with the spirit of Irving's 
essay, so that it seems a preparation for the read- 
ing of it. 

Note. — If there is time, notes should be numbered and read with- 
out names by the teacher, the members of the class voting to select 
the one best suited for printing in an edition of the essay. 

2. Locate Westminster Abbey in the city of London, — 
a. With reference to the Thames. 

h. With reference to St. Paul's and Little Britain. 

c. With reference to the Tower. 

d. With reference to the site of Temple Bar and the old 

city walls. 
Note. — See illustration, p. 105, and note on Temple Bar. 

3. What is the point of view of the author in this essay? 

4. In how many ways is this point of view emphasized or 

illustrated before the arched doorway is entered? 

5. Why is the attention of the reader called, just here, to 

the sun and the bit of blue sky visible above the " sun- 
gilt pinnacles''? 

6. What was the impression, in the mind of Irving, of the 

first view of the interior of the abbey? 

7. By what means does Irving attempt to give an idea of 

the size, or vastness, of the interior? 

8. "And yet," paragraph 6, is used as the sign of transition 

or change : — 



374 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

a. Why is it necessary? 

b. What means of transition to the more ordinary mood 

of the sight-seer did Irving use ? 
9. Make an outhne, showing the points chosen for observa- 
tion and description from here on. Show for each : — 

a. The reason for the choice. 

b. The special interest in Irving's mind. 

c. Special reflections or feelings roused. 

d. The influence of Irving's point of view, in this essay, 

on the description. 

10. The abbey and the remains it contained had two distinct 

effects upon Irving's mind, one, typified and expressed 
by the notes of the organ; the other, illustrated by 
what he calls a "theatrical artifice." Trace both 
throughout the essay, if you can. Were these feelings 
consistent ? Did one contribute to the other ? Which 
one was inspired most directly by what Irving saw? 

11. In this essay, Irving ends with a general reflection : — 

a. What is this reflection? 

b. On what, in the preceding essay, is it based? 



JOHN BULL 

1. What is a caricature? Let each member of the class — 

a. Write his own definition and explanation of the term. 

b. Bring from current periodicals well-known carica- 

tures, and explain how they illustrate his definition. 

2. Irving begins this essay, as usual, with a general state- 

ment : — 
a. What is this statement? 

6. By what steps of transition does he come to the gen- 
eral purpose of his essay? 

c. Where does the real body of the essay begin? 

3. Irving says that a nation personifies itself in caricatures 

adopted as national. Let each one make a collection 
from current papers and magazines of the caricatures 
of modern nations, and for each, write comments that 



TOPICS FOR STUDY 375 

will define and illustrate Irving's meaning in the above 
statement. 

4. Make an outline of Irving's analysis of John Bull's 

character, showing: — 
a. Weaknesses, or vices. 
6. Qualities in which the English people take pride. 

c. National characteristics illustrated or touched upon. 

d. Results of the conservatism of John Bull. 

e. Qualities, or habitual conduct, calculated to irritate 

persons not English-bred. 

Note. — For references to Goldsmith's ''Letters and Papers on the 
Characteristics of the English," see Notes, p. 402. 

5. What illustrations of points given in this essay have you 

found in other essays of Irving 's? 

6. What are the points of Irving's summary and conclu- 

sion? 

7. Write a comparison of the character of the English and 

of Americans, using the points found above as the 
basis of comparison. Write with care a conclusion 
summing up the comparison made in detail in the 
essay. It is a difficult matter to find an introduction 
for this essay which will admit of a natural and grace- 
ful transition to the real subject. When the papers 
have been written, let a comparison of introductions 
be made in class to see which best serves the purpose. 



STRATFORD-ON-AVON 

This essay opens with a scene in which place, time, and 
person, are given, while a reflection serves as the start- 
ing-point of the essay. 
1. Compare the general observation or statement in the 
beginning of the essay, "Stratford-on-Avon," with the 
one at the beginning of "The Boar's Head Tavern. 
Eastcheap," in the following respects: — 
a. Which arises most naturally from the situation of the 
traveller? 



376 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

b. Which, in itself, is most interesting? 

c. Which serves best to create expectation and interest 

in the narrative to follow? W^hy? 

Note. — In telling the story of an expedition for sight-seeing, Irving 
usually follows an order something like this : first, the finding of the 
place ; secondly, a general description of it, together with the rea- 
sons for interest in it ; thirdly, the person by whom it is to be shown ; 
fourthly, special points of interest, or information communicated 
by the guide; fifthly, the visitor, his feelings, opinions, etc., and 
sixthly, a transition which suggests the next topic. 

In "The Boar's Head," for instance, Irving (a) decides on a pil- 
grimage, and sets out ; (b) describes the search for the street and 
the arrival ; (c) describes the search for the site of the old tavern, etc. 

This general outline is varied according to the nature of the sub- 
ject. In " Stratford-on- Avon, " the presence of the traveller at the 
Red Horse Inn tells the reader where he is, and what he has come 
for ; the hint of a guide-book suggests also the order of his investiga- 
tions. The evidence of method is, however, all the more striking for 
omissions and modifications. 

2. Make a careful outline, keeping in mind Irving's general 

plan in these descriptions, of : — 

a. The visit to Shakespeare's house. 

b. The visit to Shakespeare's grave. 

c. The visit to Charlecot. 

3. Why is par. 7 introduced before the visit to the 

church ? 

4. Why is so particular a description of the sexton's cottage 

given ? 

5. How did Irving explain his special desire to visit Charle- 

cot? What was his reason for wishing to walk? 

6. Irving gives his own reference for the forest meditation 

of Jaques. Let each one select some quotation from 
Shakespeare's play, ''As You Like It,'' that seems 
to fulfil Irving's epithet. 

7. Make a parallel, showing for this walk : — 

a. The things seen. 

b. The thoughts and fancies suggested by each. 

8. Which of these visits did Irving enjoy most? Why? 

9. Which did he intend should interest the reader most? 

Why? 
10. Are the reflections of Irving after his return to the inn 
the cpnclusipu of the essay? To what do they refer? 



TOPICS FOR STUDY 377 

11. Compare the imaginary reality created by Irving for 
himself on this expedition with that of the pilgrimage 
to Eastcheap ; with that of the Christmas papers. 
Show differences in : — 

a. Material in real things seen and visited. 

b. Sources of knowledge of an older time. 

c. Literary material — characters, etc., already famihar. 

d. Arrangement, narrative element in essay, etc. 

e. In which is the interest of the reader greatest ? Why ? 



ABBOTSFORD 

1. What had Irving already published at this time ? Were 

his writings known in England? See "Life and 
Letters," Vol. I, pp. 158, 175. 

2. What well-known works of Scott's had been pubhshed at 

the time of Irving's visit? For note of Irving's en- 
joyment of an English copy of ''The Lady of the 
Lake," in 1810, see "Life and Letters," Vol. I, p. 187. 

3. Outline, in the manner of previous essays : — 

a. The arrival and introduction. 

b. The visit to Melrose Abbey. 

c. The Ramble on the first day. 

Note. — Topics of conversation may be added at the close of the 
outline. 

d. The dinner, including the evening. 

e. The second day. 

(1) At Abbotsford. 

(2) The Second Ramble. 
/. The third day. 

(1) Visit to Dryburgh Abbey. 

(2) Another Ramble. 

g. Conclusion of the visit and departure of the guest. 

Note. — The essential part of this essay lies in the account of 
Scott's character and manner of life, and this is given incidentally 
m a narration of excursions, visits, and fireside cheer. This will be 
more clear if Topics for Study have reference to the essay as a whole, 
rather than to parts of it. 



378 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

4. Description of places or of things : — 

a. Select, throughout the essay, all extended descrip- 

tions, such as the one in par. 4. 

b. Is there one of these which is not in some way con- 

nected with Scott himself? 

5. Descriptions of persons: — 

a. Make a list of all persons whatever, introduced in this 

narrative. 

b. Is there one among them who is not associated in 

some way with Scott ? 

c. Which one of these persons is most interesting ? Why ? 

6. Class exercise. Write, as the name is assigned you, a 

description of one of the characters appearing in this 
essay. Draw on your own imagination for details, 
which must, however, be consistent with Irving's de- 
scription. Illustrate manner or character, by conver- 
sation or by incidents. Write entirely from memory. 

7. Descriptions borrowed by Scott from his own private life 

for use in literature : — 

a. Make a list of such descriptions, referred to in this 

essay. 

b. If the poems referred to are accessible, find where these 

passages are, and what place they fill in the story. 

8. Scott as a story teller: — 

a. Which is the best story of those told by Scott dur- 

ing Irving's visit? 

b. Of which story has Irving given the best account? 

Why do you think it best ? 

9. Authorship of " Waverley Novels " : — 

a. In what year was the first of the ''Waverley Novels" 

published ? 
6. What other novels of this series had been published 

at the time of Irving's visit ? 

c. How many descriptions or references to persons, 

places, etc., in Scott's novels and poems do you 
find in Abbotsford? 

Note. — This topic should be used especially for students who 
have already studied "The Lady of the Lake," " Ivanhoe," and 



TOPICS FOR STUDY 379 

other of Scott's works, and references for quotations should be to text 
in which they stand; for scenes and persons, to novel or story 
with same description of character, etc. 

d. Why did Scott wish to conceal the authorship of these 

novels ? 

e. What circumstantial evidence that Scott was the 

author of these novels did Irving come upon during 

his visit? 

Note. — Persons who are familiar with history and who have read 
many books find pleasure in travel, or in conversation, which is denied 
to others less intelligent. In particular, in much of the intercourse 
between Scott and Irving, interest depended upon the fact that each 
understood at once the references of the other and shared his enthu- 
siasm. 

10. a. Make a list of the topics of conversation in which in- 

terest depended upon some previous knowledge of 
the subject on Irving's part. For each, define in 
a complete sentence the topic of conversation. 
6. In the topics of conversation on the first ramble, 
which one was introduced by Irving? Why? 

11. Characteristics of Scott: — 

This topic will give, in a sense, a summary of the essay. 
The work should be done as follows : — 

a. A full list of characteristics mentioned by Irving 
should be made, with references to page of essay, 
in proof. 

h. Illustrations and comment should be noted for each 
characteristic. 

c. Each student should be prepared to write, without 
reference to the text, a full and careful statement 
of any trait, or quality, of Scott's character that 
has been mentioned, and to illustrate the same. 

12. Write an essay without reference to "Abbotsford," or 

to notes, outlines, etc., on : — 
a. Scott, as Irving knew him. 
h. Irving's opinion of Scott. 

13. Illustrations and anecdotes of Scott: — 

These may be gathered from the library and may include 
scenes, characters, etc., in the life of Scott, or in any of 
his well-known poems, or novels. 



380 THE SKETCH-BOOK 



RIP VAN WINKLE 

1. Irving describes first the mountain region, then the par- 

ticular spot, then the character of the person, then his 
habits, and his relations with other persons. What 
impression did Irving wish to make in his description 
of the mountains? 

2. Why did he begin with a description of the mountains 

when the story itself begins in the village ? 

3. In the description of the village, what points did the 

author wish you to carry in mind for the story? 

4. Describe : — 

a. The character of Rip. 

b. His habits. 

c. His relations with other persons. 

5. With what does the real story that Irving wished to tell 

begin ? 

6. Make an outline of the story, showing every act or step 

which led directly to another act, up to the time when 
Rip fell asleep. 

a. What was the first extraordinary thing that happened 

to Rip? 

b. What mistake did Rip make ? 

c. Did anything happen which seemed to Rip himself 

supernatural or impossible? 

d. Had Rip ever heard the story of Hendrick Hudson and 

his crew? 

e. Where did Rip go to sleep? 

7. Rip's awakening: — 

a. Where did Rip find himself when he awakened ? 

b. How long did he suppose that he had slept? 

c. Make a list of the disturbing things that came to Rip's 

attention before he reached the village inn. Show 
how each one increased his bewilderment. 

8. Rip's reappearance in the village: — 

a. When he came to the inn, what changes did Rip 
observe before he addressed any one? 



TOPICS FOR STUDY 381 

h. What did the villagers think of Rip? 

c. Describe Rip as you suppose he looked to the vil- 

lagers, noticing especially changes that had taken 
place in his appearance since he left home. 

d. How did Rip try to make himself known? 

e. What added to the confusion of his mind ? 

/. What else, incidentally, increased his bewilderment? 

g. At what moment was his distress greatest ? 

h. What first gave his mind relief? 

i. What finally restored Rip's confidence in his own 

identity ? 
j. Did this satisfy the villagers ? Why not ? 
k. How many reasons did Irving give to show that the 

opinion of Peter Vanderdonk must convince the 

villagers? 
Z. Show in outline how many attempts Rip made, 

from the moment of waking, to recover connection 

with his past and convince himself of his own 

identity. Mark each one that did not aid him 

as "failure." 
m. After you reach the end of Rip's adventure, how many 

bits of information does Irving give in the text for 

the purpose of concluding the story ? 
9. a. What is the real subject of "Rip Van Winkle"? 

That is, why did Irving wish to tell the story? 

Note. Two suggestions are made below ; study over each and see 
whether you can prove from the beginning, the recognition scene, 
and the conclusion of the story, which Irving had in mind. 

(1) Did Irving wish to tell the story of an old Dutch 

legend associated with the Kaatskill moun- 
tains as if it really were true ? 

(2) Did Irving wish to use an old legend as a 

means of showing how great changes took 
place in twenty years at the time of the Amer- 
ican Revolution? 
h. According to Irving, did the old Dutch villagers 

really believe in the occasional return of Henry 

Hudson and his crew? 



382 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

c. Has this story of Rip Van Winkle and of Henry 
Hudson and his crew any association in your mind 
with Irving's own boyhood? 
Original Composition. — If you consider the magic drink 
a device for getting Rip out of the way for many years while 
great changes transpired, many devices for accomplishing the 
same result may be found which are at once natural and prob- 
able. For instance, a young man who went to California 
for gold in '49, or to Alaska at a later date, may not have 
accumulated money enough to come back until years have 
gone by. Let each member of the class select some place in 
his own town or neighborhood which has been standing ten 
or twenty years, and tell a natural everyday story of some 
one who returns to it after an absence of at least five years. 
The parts of the story he must invent will be as follows : — 

a. Description of the place, person, family, friends, etc. 

b. The cause of going from home, and the explanation 

of the long-continued absence. The simplest, most 
natural means should be considered the best in- 
vention. 

c. What happens while the person (he or she) is away : 

(1) In the home, or neighborhood, from which he went. 

(2) The adventures of the person himself. These need 
not be told in order, but unless they are carefully 
thought out, the return will not be well written. 

d. The cause of the return ; the decision and journey 

of the person. 

Note. — There is one sort of story, or one condition, which would 
make it possible to omit "d," — what is it? 

e. The return : — 

(1) The changes as they appear to the person who has 

been absent. 

(2) The person who has been absent as he appears to 

the persons who have remained in the old neigh- 
borhood. 
/. The conclusion, which should tell how life went on 

after the return for the persons the reader is 

interested in. 



TOPICS FOR STUDY 383 



Note. — These stories, when written, will not seem in the least like 
Irving's "Rip Van Winkle," although the plan is the same ; the mate- 
rial and the conditions are different, and for this reason the stories 
should be simple, natural narratives of events so common that they 
seem familiar to us all. Even the style in the descriptive passages 
should differ to correspond with the subject-matter of the story. 
This should remove from the mind of the writer any tendency 
to imitate Irving, which must of necessity be futile. Irving 's plan, 
however, is free for all who are able to adapt it to the use of material 
near at hand and familiar. 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 

1. What is the important difference between Irving's 

description of the locaUty of Sleepy Hollow, and 
his d2£."fiption of the mountains in the beginning of 
''Rip Van Winkle"? 

2. Make note-book memoranda for pars. 3-7, of all 

points which Irving had in mind before he wrote, as 
necessary to include in the general description of Sleepy 
Hollow. 

3. What phrase marks the beginning of a more particular 

description? 

4. Show, in outline, all the points about Ichabod that Irving 

wished to fix in the minds of readers before he began 
to tell the story. 

5. Draw, if you are able, a map of the locality, showing the 

position of the schoolhouse, the church, the ceme- 
tery, the Van Tassel mansion ; show also the road and 
the bridge. 

5. Draw, if you are able, a picture of the schoolhouse with the 

door standing open, showing also the hill and the birch 
tree. 

6. a. Draw, if you can, a picture of Ichabod as you see him ; 

or, 

h. Write a description of Ichabod Crane as you see him : 
choose a time for your description, as, in school 
hours ; or, outside, with the boys ; or, in the even- 
ing, at his boarding place. 

c. Show, in outline, everything learned about Ichabod's 



384 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

past life, education, etc., up to the day of the 
invitation. 

7. What were Ichabod's personal peculiarities and charac- 

teristics ? 

8. What were the duties of a teacher in Ichabod's time? 

How was Ichabod supported ? 

Note. — Another description of boarding around, a custom widely 
prevalent in early days, will be found in Eggleston's "Hoosier School- 
master." 

9. Show, in outline, as for Ichabod Crane, everything 

learned about the history, hfe, etc., of 

(1) Brom Bones; (2) Katrina; (3) Baltus Van Tassel. 

10. Write a description of each person named in ''9," as 

for Ichabod Crane; or, if you prefer, draw a picture 
of each one. 

11. In what is the real beginning of this story? 

12. State all the reasons that influenced Ichabod in his wish 

to marry Katrina. 

13. Name all the difficulties in the way of his success. 

14. Write, and illustrate if you wish, a description of Ichabod 

Crane when ready for the party. Write in the first 
person, and make him reveal his satisfaction and pride 
in his preparations. 

Note. — Irving has described Ichabod from the point of view of 
the humorist, as he would appear to others. The suggestion of the 
good knight, Don Quixote, mounted on his steed is irresistible. 

15. a. Irvin mentions descriptions of scenery as one of the 

main objects in view in the composition of this 
story. Consider pars. 35-38, as an essay of de- 
scription; omit sentences belonging to the narra- 
tive; outline these paragraphs so as to show the 
order and method of description. 
h. Write an introduction for your outline, giving in it 
location, reasons for interest in the scene, associa- 
tions, etc. You may write either in the first person 
as a traveller, or in the third person. Which is 
easier ? Why ? 

16. Find in Irving's description of the arrival a plan which 



TOPICS FOR STUDY 385 

you could follow in writing of a party, or of any other 
gathering, now. 

17. What sort of entertainment, at the present time, is most 

like the merrymaking described here? 

18. Compare the old-fashioned party with some social gather- 

ing which has taken its place in such a way as to show 
differences in guests, refreshments, amusements, hours, 
etc. 

19. After par. 46, Irving found that he had not told all 

that he wished the reader to know about the stories 
current among the inhabitants of Sleepy Hollow; he 
slips in an aside, therefore, of a general nature in order 
to show briefly what sort of stories were told by the 
smokers sitting in the dark. 
a. Make titles for each one of the stoFies referred to here 
which would be apt for the tale if it were written 
out in full. 
6. Was there any significance in Irving's mind in the 
order in which stories were told on this occasion? 
c. Why is a detailed description of the church intro- 
duced here instead of in the earlier part of the 
narrative ? 

20. Where did Irving resume the direct form of story, and 

how? 

21 . Ichahod^s homeward ride : — 

a. The mood in which he set out. 

h. The effect of the time and the scene upon his 
nerves. 

c. Why did his apprehension increase as he rode on? 

d. In the historical story of Major Andre, why did he 
" keep a rendezvous at this spot? How was he 

betrayed ? 

e. What first startled Ichabod ? 

/. Why was Ichabod especially afraid to cross the bridge 
at Wiley's swamp? Was his horse frightened? 

g. The first appearance of a real cause of terror: what 
circumstances increased Ichabod 's terror? 

h> On what did he depend for hope of escape? 



386 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

i. How did the adventure end? 

22. Find in all the story, to this point, every indication Irving 

has given that Ichabod might easily be terrified by 
an unexpected apparition. 

23. Enumerate each particular which added to his terror 

as the ride went on. 

24. At what moment was his terror greatest? 

Note. — "Tarn. O'Shanter's Ride " may be read in class. See com- 
ment for suggestion of the possible influence of Burns 's description in 
Irving's mind. 

25. a. Did Ichabod really believe in the ghost of the Head- 

less Horseman? 

h. When he thought over his adventure, did he believe 
that this ghost had appeared to him? 

c. What explanations of the disappearance of the school- 
master were handed down ? Which was the favor- 
ite one? Why? 

26. Tell the story of Brom Bones, not as a ghost story, but 

as the story of how he rid himself of a rival. Let Brom 
tell it to his grandchildren, one day, when they have 
brought him Irving's "Legend of Sleepy Hollow" to 
read. The title may be : "The True Story of the Dis- 
appearance of the Schoolmaster." Brom must be 
asked, also, to explain the tale he told at the party. 

27. Illustrations of the " Legend of Sleepy Hollow " ; — 

Let the class arrange an art loan exhibit which may 
include : — 

a. All maps, pictures, and relics of the old Dutch period. 

h. Original drawing or maps made to illustrate Irving's 
story. For these, there should be a committee of 
award who will attach a blue ribbon to the best. 

c. Tableaux in costume, of scenes in the story, — names 

of scenes not announced, but to be given by the 
members of the class, as they are recognized. 

d. Photographs of buildings, scenery, etc., from the locali- 

ties in which the scenes of the story were placed. 



NOTES 

The Author's Account of Himself 

Compare with this account Addison's introduction of himself to 
his readers, in No. 1 of The Sj)ectator, Thursday, March 1, 1710, in 
which he says, "I Uve in the world rather as a spectator of mankind 
than as one of the species." Extracts from Irving's Journal, in 
Chapters i and ii of "Life and Letters," furnish comment on his early 
propensity for wandering about, and on his passion for scenery and 
for books of travel. A description of Irving's early years in New 
York city will be found in C. D. Warner's "The Works of Washington 
Irving. " 

The Voyage 

5 : 2. A lengthening chain. Goldsmith's "The Traveller," L 10, 
"And drag at each remove a lengthening chain." 

Rural, Life in England 

Essays on similar topics in the De Coverley Papers of The Spec- 
tator are "Sir Roger goes A-hunting," No. 116, and No. 119, 
"Good Breeding in the Country." 

The essay, "Rural Life in England," was sketched by Irving after 
wandering about in the vicinity of Hagley, the country seat of Lord 
Lyttelton. For correspondence on this subject, see "Life and Let- 
ters," Vol. I, p. 365, date, October 28, 1820. 

For the criticism of Richard H. Dana on this essay, see "Life and 
Letters," Vol. I, p. 319; or North American Review, Vol. IX, p. 322. 

16 : 12. The question of the authorship of "The Flower and the 
Leaf" has occasioned much discussion. It is now believed that it 
was written in the century following Chaucer by some one who 
regarded him as his master, and had caught much of the spirit and 
the melody of the older poet's verse. The reasons for this conclusion 
are summarized in "Studies in Chaucer," by T. R. Lounsbury, Vol. I, 
pp. 495-496. 

The Stage-Coach 

Roads and coaching in England about 1820. Irving's residence in 
London was in the heyday of coaching and travel by private vehicle 
or on horseback. The description by Sir Walter Besant in "London 
in the Eighteenth Century" represents fairly the means of travel 

387 



388 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

used by Irving in 1815-1820. In that day there were in the city 
and borough of London more than one hundred inns from which 
coaches, carrier's carts, and wagons went forth daily in every direc- 
tion. The service was slow ; a coach made, on the average, about 
seven miles an hour ; it took sixty hours for a letter to go from Lon- 
don to Edinburgh. Packages sent by carrier required three weeks 
to reach the same destination. Travel by road in those days was 
entertaining and animated to a degree difficult to imagine at the 
present time. The highways were crowded with every sort of 
vehicle and travellers represented all conditions of rank or service, 
while at the inns, which were found at frequent intervals, the possi- 
bility of adventure and the certainty of diverse company rendered 
the halt an exciting event. The discomfort of outside travel in 
bad weather may be gathered from novels and letters : David 
Copperfi eld's journeys by the Yarmouth coach, the experiences of 
Nicholas Nickleby, and many others illustrate this. Reference, 
"London in the Eighteenth Century," by Sir Walter Besant, ch. iv, 
p. 107, "Inland Communication, "etc. See, also, "Hackney Coach 
Stands" and "Early Coaches," in "Sketches by Boz," chs. vii and 

XV. 

47:7. The contention of holly and ivy. Brand, in "Popular 
Antiquities," says that holly appears to have been used to trim the 
inside of houses, and he quotes a carol from the Harleian Mss. in which 
alternate couplets are sung for holly and for ivy. P. 280, note. 

47 : 11. See, also, the first paragraph of "The Inn Kitchen." 

Christmas Eve 

The style and arrangement of matter in this essay and in the ones 
following was probably suggested by Addison's De Coverley Papers, 
in The Spectator. The material is Irving 's, but in every paragraph 
is some haunting reminiscence of Sir Roger, his hall, family, or man- 
ner of life. For comparison see especially Nos. 106, 107, 108, 112. 

Those who are interested in the early experiments which were 
Irving 's school of literary art will find the forerunners of the Christ- 
mas Papers in Salmagundi. Descriptions of Cockloft Hall, The Lang- 
staff family, Will Wizard, Sophia Sparkle, etc., show that Irving, in 
honest apprenticeship, studied Addison's essays carefully and en- 
deavored to form his own style upon them. 

Dickens's description of Christmas observances at Dingley Dell 
is in "Pickwick Papers," ch. xviii. Dickens was undoubtedly 
familiar with "The Sketch-Book." 

Robin Goodfellow, or Puck, was a merry sprite, both knavish and 
shrewd, particularly fond of playing pranks which disturbed the 
peace and order of households. A ballad describing his exploits at 
length is quoted in "Popular Antiquities," p. 579; and he appears 



NOTES 389 

in "A Midsummer Night's Dream," Act ii, Sc. 1. Robin Good- 
fellow in literature has reappeared in Rudyard Kipling's "Puck of 
Pook's Hill." 

53 : 8. The games mentioned here are all described in "Popular 
Antiquities," pp. 516-550, and on pages 280-283 customs connected 
with the hanging of the mistletoe are given. 

Christmas Day 

63:5. Another quotation from Herrick, from "A Thanksgiving 
to God for his House." 

67 : 17. For mistletoe, see paragraph 8, page 53. 

72:25. Dining with Duke Humphry. Brand says, "The mean- 
ing of the popular expression, ' to dine with Duke Hiunphry, ' applied 
to persons who, being unable to procure a dinner either by their own 
money or from the favor of their friends, walk about and loiter during 
dinner time," after many unsuccessful attempts, has at last been 
satisfactorily explained. It appears that in the ancient church of 
St. Paul, in London, to which many persons used to resort for exer- 
cise, to hear news, and otherwise pass the earlier part of the day, one 
of the aisles was called Duke Humphry's Walk, not that there ever 
really was a cenotaph there to the Duke's memory, . . . but because 
(says Stowe) ignorant people mistook the fair monument . . . 
which was in the south side of the body of St. Paul's Church for that 
of Humphry, Duke of Gloucester." Numerous quotations follow, 
illustrating the origin of the mistake and the popular use of the 
phrase. — " Popular Antiquities, " pp. 793-795. 

The Christmas Dinner 

76 : 2. See reference for page 47, paragraph 7, holly and ivy. 

Yule candles. The lighting of candles at Christmas time is an 
ancient custom, of obscure origin. In some sort they were used to 
commemorate the birth of Christ, the "Light of the World"; the 
custom has survived its original significance, and is now a token of 
the good cheer and kindliness which best express the spirit of the 
season. In St. John's College, Oxford, an ancient candle socket still 
remains, which formerly held the Christmas candle on one of the 
tables during each of the twelve nights of the festival. 

78 : 4. For a picture of the bringing in of the boar's head, in ancient 
times with observances and carols, see Brand's "Popular Antiqui- 
ties," p. 257. 

82 : 10, 11, 12. The custom of wassailing is derived from our 
Old English ancestors, and one authority speaks of "the yearly 
Was-haile in the Country on the Vigil of the New Yeare," . . . 
as "a usual custom among the Anglo-Saxons before Hengist." 

84:16. The banks of the Isis. The tributary of the Thames at 



390 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

Oxford is named the Isis. Formerly, Isis was also a poetical name 
for the Thames itself. 

85 : 19. The Lord of Misrule. The custom of electing a Lord 
of Misrule to preside over the festivities of the holiday season was of 
much wider application than is apparent in the quotation from Stowe. 
Colleges, Inns of Court, the Mayor of London — in short, any per- 
sons of sufficient wealth and estate to carry on the sports — might elect 
a Lord of Misrule and enjoy the humors of a motley king and his court. 
The wild blades of the community, also, often banded together to go 
a-mumming and playing of pranks beyond ordinary license, under the 
leadership of a Lord of Misrule. 

87 : 21. Brand, in "Popular Antiquities, "gives a full account of the 
superstitions associated with the observance of the summer solstice, 
or midsummer eve. In all these festivals in which sports, games, 
omens, and superstitions mingle are found survivals from Druidism, 
from the pagan religious ceremonies of the Saxons, the Scandi- 
navians, etc. 

89 : 27. The reference for the account of Irving 's sojourn in 
Newstead Abbey is, "Life and Letters," Vol. II, pp. 214, 219-220. 
"Newstead Abbey" is in "Crayon Miscellany." 

Little Britain 

92. Bow bells. The bells of St. Mary le Bow Church, which 
stood on the right side of Cheapside in the heart of Little Britain. 
In 1469, according to Stowe, it was ordained by the City Council that 
the bells of St. Mary le Bow should be rung every night at nine o'clock 
as a sign for the closing of shops. People born within sound of these 
famous bells are called Cockneys. 

92 : 2. Little Britain, in its name, commemorates the mansion of 
John, Duke of Bretagne and Earl of Richmond, in the reign of Edward 
II. The title, Duke of Bretagne and Earl of Richmond, is, however, 
much older. King John, in Shakespeare's play (Act ii, Sc. 1, 1. 551), 
is made to say, "For we'll create young Arthur Duke of Britain and 
Earl of Richmond, " and Holinshed, in his "Chronicle," narrates that 
John received homage of his nephew, Arthur, for Bretagne and the 
"Countie of Richmont." 

94 : 4. Irving's residence in Little Britain. The rooms occupied 
by Irving's imaginary author were undoubtedly his own in August, 
1817, in Bartholomew Close, off Aldersgate Street. Tradition says 
that Milton, after the return of the Stuarts, took refuge in Bartholo- 
mew Close, and here, also, came Benjamin Franklin in 1724, seeking 
work with a famous printer. 

95 : 6. In 1831 a new St. Dunstan's church was built on the site 
of the old one. A picture of the old clock, visible up and down 
Fleet Street, is given in Callow's "Old London Taverns," p. 216. 



NOTES 391 

95 : 6. The lions in the Tower. The kings of England kept their 
wild beasts in the Tower. In the beginning, these were presents, — 
three leopards from Emperor Frederick of Germany, who thus paid 
a delicate compliment to the quarterings on the royal arms of Eng- 
land. Later, other beasts were obtained, and in the reign of Edward 
II, a lion. The wild beasts in the Tower soon became the most 
popular sight in London. In 1834 this royal menagerie was trans- 
formed into a Zoological Garden. 

95 : 6. The giants in Guildhall. Fairholt, in his curious and inter- 
esting history of the giants of Guildhall, traces the origin of civic 
giants in England to the guild observances of continental cities. 
Especially in the cities where wealth and property were due to great 
trading companies, legendary history was typified in civic giants, 
many of whom became famous and were copied in other cities or 
countries. Antwerp, Douai, Brussels, Lille, and many other cities 
brought forth giants — sometimes in families — as features of all 
civic or guild pageants. 

The giants of Guildhall, London, are of the usual type and well pro- 
vided with ancestry and mythological adventures dating from the 
landing of Brute in Britain. Caxton relates, in his " Chronicle of Eng- 
land," the story of the strife between Brute and the giant Albion who 
fought him, with his brothers, Gog and Magog. In the end. Brute 
triumphed, founded a city called New Troy, and built a palace on 
the spot where Guildhall now stands ; the two giants, his prisoners, 
he chained to the gate, one on either side, as porters. According to 
another story, all the giants of Albion's army were slain except one 
brother, Gogmagog, who was saved alive that Corineus, a giant on 
the other side, might make trial of strength with him. Of course 
Gogmagog perished. The dress and weapons of the figures in Guild- 
hall bear out this tale, for Corineus, a brother of Brute, is habited 
in the Roman mode as conventionally depicted at the time of the 
manufacture of the giants. 

These giants formed part of the Lord Mayor's pageants and of the 
shows at the setting of the watch on midsummer eve. They were 
ingeniously made of wicker-work and pasteboard, and in time, 
according to an old account, by reason of age, and with the help of 
a number of city rats and mice, these two old, weak, and feeble giants 
came to dissolution, after which "two substantial and majestic 
giants " were formed and fashioned by an eminent carver, at the city 
charge. These were placed in Guildhall in 1708. The figures were 
about fourteen feet high and are described as "monstrous giants," 
with black and bushy beards ; one holds a halbert, the other, a ball 
set round with spikes, hanging by a chain to a long staff. 

These figures were originally placed on each side the entrance to 
the Council chamber, "They were ponderously constructed of wood, 
but hollow within," upward of fifteen feet in height, and were evi- 



392 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

dently made for the permanent decoration of the building and not for 
carrying through the city on festive days, as were their predecessors. 
In 1815, when the hall underwent repairs, the giants were repainted 
and set on pedestals on either side of the great west window, where 
they now stand. In 1837 they were again restored, and in that year 
copies of these giants, fourteen feet in height, were introduced in the 
Lord Mayor's show, each walking by the aid of a man within it ; 
and they, from time to time, turned their faces to the spectators who 
lined the streets. — Condensed from "Gog and Magog, the Giants in 
Guildhall," by F. W. Fairholt. 

97 : 8. The good old king. George the Third died on January 29, 
1820. This essay, which was a part of "The Sketch-Book,"No. VII, 
was published in September of the same year. The expression used 
by Irving is little more than a courteous form of speech, since the 
king had been hopelessly insane for ten years or more. 

The "Manchester Massacre," August 16, 1819; the "Cato Street 
Conspiracy," a plot to assassinate the ministry of the new king, 
February 23, 1820 ; and the return of Queen Caroline, from whom 
George IV was determined to secure a divorce, were all political 
events of the year in which these essays were written, and more- 
over, were causes of much excitement and partisan feeling in Eng- 
land. Details of these events may be found in any good history of 
England for this period. 

100 : 14. St. Bartholomew's fair. St. Bartholomew's fair was 
established by Rahere, king's jester to Henry I, and was a market 
granted for the eve of St. Bartholomew's Day (August 24) to con- 
tinue through two days after. The duration of the fair, or market, 
was extended later to fourteen days. This great market established, 
in the beginning, as a centre of trade, declined into a saturnalia which 
covertly admitted many shameful abuses. Cloth Fair, the last relic 
of this famous old market, came to an end in 1855. 

102 : 15. Temple Bar. In the Middle Ages, when the gates of 
walled cities were closed each night, extra-mural settlements often 
grew up in the neighborhood of the gates opening upon important 
highways of travel. Taxes and fees were collected at gates of en- 
trance to the inner city. This probably fostered the growth of an 
outer city of residences and of hostelries, shops, etc., for the accom- 
modation of travellers. As the number of inhabitants without the 
walls increased, they desired the privileges and protection of the city, 
without the restraints of life within the gates, and extra-mural pre- 
cincts were enclosed by a "loop-line of crenellated works." A fringe 
of settlement again grew up outside of this extra-mural precinct, 
and this, if not enclosed, in turn was brought within the liberty of 
the city by bars, or in other words, by posts and rails with a chain 
to fix across the road, in case of need. 

In the neighborhood of the gates of the old walled city of London 



NOTES 393 

were settlements enclosed in this manner, the entrances to which 
were known as Smithfield Bar, Holborn Bar, and Whitechapel Bar; 
these marked the line of separation between the city and the county 
of Middlesex. A fourth. Temple Bar, so named from the house and 
chapel of the Knights Templar which stood, near, marked the limit 
of the jurisdiction of the city of London toward the independent city 
of Westminster. By the time of Edward III the post and chain had 
been replaced by a wooden structure, in the semblance of a city gate ; 
this was destroyed by fire early in the seventeenth century, but was 
immediately rebuilt. It was again burnt in the fire of 1666, after 
which it was rebuilt in more permanent form, from a design by 
Christopher Wren. It had a central gateway, twenty feet wide, a 
gateway for foot passengers, five feet nine inches wide ; it was built 
of Portland stone, and ornamented on each side with statues. The 
depth of the arches, seventeen and one-half feet, admitted of a cham- 
ber above the central gateway. In 1877 Temple Bar was pulled 
down for the widening of the Strand and the erection of the new Law 
Courts. It was removed to Meux I'ark, near Enfield, and soon 
after a memorial was erected to mark the spot where it formerly 
stood. 

The curious ceremony to which Irving refers in paragraph 15 
took place on the entrance of a sovereign into the city and was 
attended with much magnificence. Aftei" the entry of the king or 
queen, the gates were closed ; the king then humbly solicited of the 
Lord Mayor liberty of egress, and forthwith the gates were thrown 
open, and the keys of the city delivered to the royal guest, who 
returned them with words to the effect that they could not be in 
more honorable custody. This custom was revived, occasionally, to 
modern times; it took place, for the last time, in 1844, on the en- 
trance of Queen Victoria to the city, for the opening of the Royal 
Exchange. 

106 : 20. The references to Kean and the Edinburgh Review 
illustrate the inclination of an author to slip into his writings matters 
of personal interest. Kean was acting Shakespearian parts in Lon- 
don in the years in which "The Sketch- Book" was written, and 
Irving 's acquaintance with Scott, and, later, his connection with 
Murray, gave him a special interest in the Edinburgh Review. 

London Antiques 

113 : 2. The chapel of the Knights Templar. The new temple 
of the Knights Templar was built as a round church in the second 
half of the twelfth century, and was dedicated in 1185 by Heraclius, 
Patriarch of Jerusalem. Round churches were rare in England ; only 
five others were built in that style. The oblong part of the New 
Temple was added later and consecrated in the reign of Henry III. 



394 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

The New Temple became the treasure house of the kings of Eng- 
land, and kings themselves occasionally, when hard pressed, took 
refuge there. In the contest with his barons which preceded the 
signing of Magna Charta, King John withdrew to the New Temple 
and resided in it for some time. It is said that he slept there the 
night before signing the document, and signed by the advice of the 
Grand Master of the Temple, then named St. Maur. 

Students of Scott's "Ivanhoe " will recall that the scenes at Tem- 
plestowe, during the visit of the Grand Master, belong to the same 
historical period. For special reference, see "The History of the 
Temple," by G. Pitt Lewis, London, 1898. 

118 : 14. Charterhouse has a history antecedent to the foundation 
mentioned by Irving. In 1371, Sir Walter Manly founded a monas- 
tery of Carthusian monks at this place. The name Charterhouse is 
a corrupt form of Chartreuse, the name of the greatest house of the 
Carthusians, La Grande Chartreuse, still situated on the mountains 
in the neighborhood of Grenoble, France. Henry VIII dissolved this 
m.onastery, hanged the last prior, and set his head upon London 
bridge, then gave the property to his chancellor. It passed to vari- 
ous owners and in due time, by purchase, to Thomas Sutton, who 
endowed it as the Hospital of St. James Foundation. This founda- 
tion provides for eighty old brothers, or pensioners, who are to receive 
a home and, annually, £36 and a gown. There was also a school, 
and twenty exhibitions, or scholarships, of £80 each, good for four 
years at "any University or other place of preparation for life." 

In 1872, the school, made famous by Thackeray's pen, was re- 
moved to Godalming, in Surrey. The old schoolhouse and build- 
ings have been rebuilt, and are now tenanted by the school of the 
Merchant Tailors' Company. — From Fry's "London," 1890, pp. 
164-165. 

Washhouse Court is on the left of the northern quadrangle of 
Charterhouse. It is in one of the little houses of this court that 
Thackeray paints the beautiful death of Thomas Newcome. — Hare's 
"Walks in London," Vol. I, p. 197. 

The Great Hall was formerly the drawing-room, and famous for 
its beautiful ceiling and Flemish fireplace ; the Pensioners' Hall of 
the present time was the great hall of the Dukes of Norfolk. 

The Boar's Head Tavern, Eastcheap 

122 : 1. Irving seems to have found the suggestion of this essay 
in Goldsmith's "Diverting History and Droll Adventures of Sir John 
Falstaff," and he drew more than one hint from the earlier writer. 
Goldsmith, as sleep fell on his eyes, metamorphosed his host into the 
likeness of Dame Quickly ; he suggests a snuff-box, and makes men- 
tion of the drawer who was buried in St. Michael's churchyard. He 



NOTES 395 

also failed, as did Irving later, of his original quest, because the 
tavern had just been sold and was closed to visitors, and he, too, went 
from one person to another in search of information. 

A rare book, printed in the eighteenth century, bearing the title, 
"Diverting History and Droll Adventures of Sir John Falstaff," with 
Dr. Goldsmith's name on the title page, contains three parts, namely : 

I. An Essay on the Character of Sir John Falstaff. 

II. The History, Droll Adventures, Memorable Exploits, and 
Comical Humors of the Renowned, Facetious, and Diverting Sir 
John Falstaff. 

III. History of Boar's Head Tavern, in Eastcheap, from Dr. 
Goldsmith. 

These papers were apparently later than Goldsmith's essay, "A 
Reverie in Boar's Head Tavern, in Eastcheap," for they refer many 
times to Dr. Goldsmith as source of information, and seem facetiously 
designed as a reply to some criticism upon certain phrases in that 
composition; such as, "in the very room," "in the very chair." 
The following description is quoted from Goldsmith's "History 
of Boar's Head Tavern, in Eastcheap." Goldsmith wrote for enter- 
tainment, mingling what he read in Shakespeare's plays, and in old 
histories, with traditions and the ideas of his own time. 

" The original building was wood, constructed according to the 
manner of the times, with one story projecting over the other, and 
ornamented with vast Gothic windows, in the middle of which was 
to be seen some pleasant device, achievement, or coat of arms stained 
in the glass. At the door stood a vast grapevine, growing upon the 
supporters, and over the doorway a blue boar, a Bacchus, a tun, and 
a bunch of grapes. The apartments within, were accommodated 
with mighty large chimney places, adorned with great impost carv- 
ings much in the bacchanalian style ; and if the reader has ever been 
to Westminster Abbey and has taken up the seats, which turn with 
hinges, in Henry Seventh's Chapel, he has seen specimens of the 
sculpture of the days of Sir John Falstaff. Each side of the door- 
way was a vine branch carved in wood, loaded with leaves and clus- 
ters ; on the top of each was a little Falstaff, eight inches high," etc. 

124 : 5. Thackeray, many years later, in the first paragraphs of 
his essay on Steele, seems almost to have taken his text from Irving. 
Read what he says of Robinson Crusoe, Mariner, and of the power of 
writings like The Spectator and The Tattler to bring back a by-gone 
age. 

126 : 11. Hare, in "Walks in London, " Vol. I, p. 329, says that 
London Stone is now built into the church of St. S within on the side 
facing Cannon Street station. It is encased in masonry and protected by 
an iron grille. It is supposed to have been a Roman Milliarium, the 
central terminus from which milestones measured distance on roads 
radiating all over England, as in Rome the golden Milliarium in the 



396 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

Forum was the centre from which all roads radiated. London Stone 
was removed from its former position on the south side of the street, 
in 1798. Stowe describes it as fixed in the ground, in his day, and 
protected by iron bars. 

129 : 17. Callow, in "Old London Taverns," p. 97, mentions 
a "Drawer at the Boar's Head, in Great Eastcheap," Robert Preston 
by name, who was buried in the churchyard of St. Michael's, on 
which the rear part of the old tavern looked out. 

131:21. " Bullyrock." Shakespeare's phrase is "bully-rook," 
but bully-rock is found frequently in other writers. In the Oxford 
Dictionary, the word is defined as "a brava, a hired ruffian who is 
also a rook, or sharper." For Shakespeare's use of this phrase, see 
"Merry Wives," Act i, Sc. 3, 1. 2; Act ii, Sc. 1, 11. 200, 207, 213, etc. 

132 : 24. The reference here is to the "Martinus Scriblerus Club," 
formed by Pope, Swift, and Arbuthnot, for the purpose of satirizing, 
under a slight anonymity, literary incompetence. "The Scriblerus 
Memoirs " contain the description to which Irving refers, and were 
written in great part by Arbuthnot. 

133 : 26. Parcel-gilt goblet. " Henry IV," P. II, Act. i, Sc. 1, 1. 94. 

134 : 30. Tedious-brief. " A Midsummer Night's Dream," Act v, 
Sc. 1, 1. 56. 

135:31. The shield of Achilles. The Iliad, Bk. 18, 11. 480-608; 
in Lang, Leaf and Myers' translation, pp. 380-385. 

The Portland vase. A cinerary urn, or vase, found in the 
tomb of the emperor Alexander Severus, and long in the pos- 
session of the Barberini. In 1779 it was purchased by Sir W. 
Hamilton, and afterward came into the possession of the Duchess of 
Portland. In 1810 the Duke of Portland, its owner, and one of the 
trustees of the British Museum, allowed it to be placed there for 
exhibition. In 1845 it was maliciously broken to pieces. It has 
since been repaired, but is not now shown to the public. 

It is ten inches high and six inches in diameter at the broadest 
part, of transparent dark blue glass, coated with opaque white glass, 
cut in cameo on each side into groups of figures in relief, representing 
the marriage of Peleus and Thetis. — From "The Encyclopsedic 
Dictionary." Cassell and Co. 

Westminster Abbey 

Irving 's "Westminster Abbey" suggests earlier essays on similar 
themes, which may, perhaps, have been starting points for his 
thought; such are "Reflections in Westminster Abbey," Spectator, 
No. 26 ; and "An Account of Westminster Abbey " in "A Citizen of 
the World," Letter xiii by Goldsmith. For later visits of Irving, 
and for his residence in Little Cloisters, see "Life and Letters," 
Vol. II, p. 393. 



NOTES 



397 



140 : 7. Burial in Westminster Abbey. In the beginning, only 
royal and ecclesiastical persons were buried in Westminster Abbey 
by right ; a few others were grudgingly admitted by royal command 
and by the abbot's favor. Chaucer is supposed to have received 




burial in the Abbey because he lived in a house within the enclosure, 
abutting on old Lady Chapel; he was also clerk of the works at 
Westminster Palace. Later, for many generations, the privilege of 
sepulture in the Abbey was awarded by direct command of the 
sovereign. Cromwell originated the idea, which was taken up by 



398 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

Parliament, that the plain citizen, be he statesman, soldier, or sailor, 
who deserved public recognition, might be honored thus. The cus- 
tom has since become a national observance. Henry VIII, and later 
Elizabeth, defined the functions of the Dean and Chapter with refer- 
ence especially to Westminster School, and since that time they 
have been practically the administrative body. At the present time, 
the proposal to honor the illustrious dead by burial in the Abbey 
originates either in memorials presented to the Dean, as in the case 
of Charles Darwin, or in the invitation of the Dean, as for Robert 
Browning, Charles Dickens, and Lord Tennyson. — From "Roll Call 
of Westminster Abbey, " by E. T. Bradley, and "Westminster Abbey, " 
by Dean Farrar. 

142 : 10. Mrs. Nightingale's tomb. A picture of this famous 
work is given in Ackermann's "The History of St. Peter's, Westmin- 
ster, " opposite page 193 ; from this illustration the reader may judge 
for himself of the remarkable character of the monument. 

147 : 24. The quotation from Sir Thomas Browne is from "Urn 
Burial," ch. v, an essay which may well have influenced Irving 's 
thoughts in Westminster Abbey. 

The Mutability of Litekature 

Westminster School. Westminster School was established in 1540 by 
Henry VIII. When the monastic house attached to the Abbey was 
dissolved, a bishopric was founded from the confiscated revenues, and 
also a school for forty scholars, with an upper and an under master. 
Under Queen Mary, the whole reformed establishment was swept 
away, and for a short time Westminster enjoyed the distinction of 
the full cathedral. Elizabeth restored her father's foundation in 
every particular, and gave the statutes under which the school has 
been governed to the present time. The school originally admitted 
three classes of scholars, designated by the old Latin names. These 
were the "Queen's Scholars," forty in number, on Elizabeth's founda- 
tion, the aristocrats of the school ; the day scholars of the city of 
Westminster, who were admitted by payment of fees ; and the 
strangers, or students from without the walls, who were able to colo- 
nize with relatives or responsible persons within the limits and thus 
share the privileges of day students. Of these two classes, eighty 
pupils, were admitted. 

The requirement that a Latin play should be acted annually was 
included in the ordinances of Elizabeth, and the practice has con- 
tinued, practically without interruption, to the present day. The 
privileges of the king's scholars have also survived; among these, 
the right of the scholars of Westminster to occupy, every day, six 
seats in the stranger's gallery in the House of Commons, and on 
Sundays the right of walking on the terrace of the House. The school 
also still exercises its ancient privilege of assembling for prayers in 



NOTES . 399 



the Poets* Corner of the Abbey. For full description of this interest- 
ing school, and for pictures of the library and buildings in Irving 's 
day, consult "Westminster School," in the series, "Handbooks to 
Great Pubhc Schools." 

Notes on the Illustrations of "Westminster Abbey" and of 
"The Mutability of Literature" to be found in Libraries 

For purposes of illustration, ' ' Westminster Abbey ' ' and ' ' The Muta- 
bility of Literature " are grouped together. The list of illustrations 
given below, and also those in the Bibliography, have been arranged 
by Mr. George Turner Phelps, of Cambridge, in order of use for a 
consecutive view of the Abbey, as it appeared to Irving. Teachers 
who follow the suggestions carefully will succeed in giving an idea of 
the architecture, plan, and proportions, of the great Abbey not often 
gained from illustrative material ; illustrations of detail, often wonder- 
ful in accuracy and beauty, mean little in reference to a building like 
Westminster Abbey, unless they are related to it in some intelligible way. 

For study of the monuments in the Abbey and its chapels, the 
most available and serviceable book is Bradley's "Roll Call of West- 
minster Abbey." 

The plan of the Abbey on page 397 is for use in connection with 
the illustrations. Other plans will be found in the books referred to. 

The full list of references for illustration of Irving 's view of the 
Abbey after he reached the nave is too long to give here. A key 
for arranging such lists from single books is given on pp. 414-415. 

The following note, written by the same critic who selected the 
illustrations of Westminster Abbey, defines both the experience of 
the author who wrote the essay, and the purpose in the selection and 
arrangement of illustrative material for use in the schoolroom. 
The teacher who catches the spirit and mood of Irving, by use of the 
suggestions here made will be able to give the pupils in his classes 
a lasting impression of England's great Abbey. 

*' In this essay Irving attempts to reproduce the experience of a 
day spent sentimentalizing about ideas suggested by various objects 
seen and heard in Westminster Abbey. He calls his mental attitude 
'contemplation' of objects before him. One inscription (TJ 9) 
and one monument (^ 10) he saw accurately, but he uses these 
instances for discussions entirely aside from his description, which 
they interrupt. His one other accurate (?) account (1[ 11) is of 
an effigy which does not exist. It is, in reality, an aggregate of 
details from three monuments in the chapel of St. Edmund and a 
fourth on the opposite side of the Sanctuary. Moreover, curiously 
enough, the crossed legs are not the Crusader's ; are, indeed, from the 
Sanctuary ; his buckler is not on his arm ; and his morion is just the 
wrong headgear. Had Irving contemplated objects before him, his 



400 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

eyes would not have found a 'peculiar melancholy' (T[ 18) reign- 
ing about Mary Stuart's tomb. The darkness might have seemed 
very appropriate, but the sentimentality would have vanished with 
the realization that her aisle was more gloomy than Elizabeth's 
because it was closer to other buildings beyond its 'windows dark- 
ened by dust.' In reality, since he scarcely saw anything accurately, 
he came away (If 24) mentally in mere confusion. 

"Quite in contradiction to his sentimental attitude, his sense of 
humor shows genuine in ^ 6. Again, and aside from interest in the 
Abbey as cemetery and 'memento mori,' which might be equally 
true of any other building used for burials, his artist eye is pleased 
by forms of decaying stone (^f 2), by contrasts of light and shade; 
his ear is alert to effects of bells, steps, voices, music. If only his 
mind had been awake, he might have detected the source and the 
kind of his very genuine emotion, and have given us an equally in- 
telligent idea of the building. His essay is the result of cumulative 
emotional experience within the Abbey, quite independent of knowl- 
edge of architectural art, almost of architectural detail, and it repro- 
duces for the reader a similar emotion wholly apart from knowledge 
of the building. While the feelings are usually related entirely to 
secondary objects quite as accidental as furniture in an ordinary 
room, nevertheless, if the reader omit the two closing paragraphs writ- 
ten only for moral effect, he shuts the cloister door with Irving, shar- 
ing the actual emotion roused by mere waiting, hour after hour, within 
the walls of the building which has barely been noticed for itself. 

"Irving's actual experience cannot be reproduced on the spot. 
The physical conditions have greatly changed in the succeeding cen- 
tury. Yet, with all the variations in detail which have come during 
the later life of the Abbey, present experience would produce for 
present minds corresponding emotion. In books, we can see ex- 
actly what he saw ; although we cannot in fact visit his building, 
we can feel just as he felt. 

"The illustrations selected for 'Westminster Abbey' and 'Muta- 
bility of Literature' are from a list chosen from various books to 
build up a cumulative emotional experience parallel to that given by 
Irving through literary means, by sight of the structure before his 
eyes as he took the actual or imaginary walk described, indeed, the 
original source of his own emotion. Some of the pictures are as he 
saw details, some are of our own time. A comparison of variants 
would be an illuminating study of the ever changing life of buildings 
centiu-ies old. 

" The clew to the impression (^f^f 2 and 4) is contrast in size of 
buildings, but not the contrast of immense size with man. There, 
Irving's intelligence failed him. Mere bigness destroys its own 
effect, for it cannot be seen, and either scatters attention, or turns 
the mind back upon itself. Even a small model of the Abbey pro- 



NOTES 401 

duces the impression of the original, which is caused by the relation 
of the parts of the building to each other; not by 'arches ... to 
... an amazing height/ but by arches supporting arches which 
again support arches; not by 'spaciousness' or great distances, 
but by succession of part beyond part; not a matter of size or 
scale, but a matter of proportion, the relation of visible parts into 
one dominating, visible whole. 

"Although Irving 's contemplation had brought him nothing but 
mental confusion, his eye, his ear, his memory, hour by hour, had 
stored up impression upon impression of part repeated, and repeated 
into distance, in various directions. 

"It is extremely interesting to study how his use of material, 
surprisingly little in quantity, very largely accidental and secondary 
to the building itself, results for us in almost total unconsciousness 
of the means, but in vivid sense-impression of having been with him 
in that specific and perfectly definite building, which he does not 
describe, which, indeed, he was not consciously seeing ; an impression 
merely of repetitions cumulating into related distances and archi- 
tectural characteristics of Westminster Abbey." 

Note. — Written by G. T. P., by request of the editor. — D. 

List of Illustrations in the Books suggested for Irving's 
Entrance and Route. 

Airy, p. 3, 1902. Little Dean's Yard, Entrance. (About 

Airy, p. 37. 1840.) 

LoFTiE, p. 301. Gable of Schoolroom (Monk's Dormi- 
tory). Place of Irving's entrance 
under modem schoolrooms. 

BoLAS, plate 61. Entrance and Door to School, to 

HiATT, p. 126, plate 115. Cloister, to Little Cloister, etc. Outer 

Besant, W., p. 109, also wall of school, of monk's refectory, etc. 
pp. 137, 139, 141, 143. 
See also 

Airy, p. 166, 

LOFTIE, p. 32. 

BoLAS, plate 51. 

Feasey, p. 44. 

AcKERMANN, Vol. II., Southeast Corner Cloister, Py:x Door, 

p. 260. Library Door (present time), Irving's 

Library Door. 

Brayley, p. 282. East Cloister, and Door to South Tran- 

Stanley, Vol. Ill, p. 50. sept. 

LOFTIE, p. 308. 

BoLAS, plate 15. Southeast corner of Abbey, including 

Feasey, plate 7, pp. 4-8. N9rth Walk. 



402 



THE SKETCH-BOOK 



BoLAs, plate 4. 
Feasey, Frontispiece. 
HiATT, p. 29. 
Scott, Frontispiece. 



LOFTIE, p. 43. 
BoLAs, plate 32. 
Feasey, p. 40. 
Brayley, p. 283. 

Feasey, plate 6, p. 48. 
Loftie, p. 17. 

A key to illustrations 



Towers from Southeast corner. 

View from Southeast corner. 

South Walk and Exit to "The Ehns" 
(whence came the interruption of "The 
Mutability of Literature," par. 1). 

Southeast corner. 

West Walk. 

West Walk, Door to Aisle of Nave, sug- 
gests Irving 's Contrast of Size, par. 4. 
Deanery Door (now gone). 

corresponding with Irving 's description 



in order and in selection, will be found in Bibliography, p. 414. 



For the Mutability of Literature 



Loftie, pp. 43, 205. 
BoLAs, plates 32, 50, 25. 
Feasey, 44, 48, plate 2. 
Airy, p. 58. 
HiATT, pp. 114, 119. 
Scott, p. 195, plate xxix 
Scott, p. 39. 
HiATT, p. 40. 
Stanley, Vol. Ill, 49. 

Roll Call, p. 159. 



Airy, p. 21. 
Airy, p. 2. 

By use of plans and 
School," an interesting 
school may be arranged, 



For South Transept. 
For East Cloister. 
For Chapter House. 
For Library Window, etc. 

. Restoration of Chapter House and En- 
trance, Irving 's Library Entrance. 
Chapter House, as Irving saw it. 
Discovery of Old Dormitory Stairs, now 

the Library Stairs. 
The Library (three eighths of the old 

Monk's Dormitory). 

For the Upper School (the other five 

eighths of old Monk's Dormitory), — 

as Irving saw it, and as it is to-day. 

historical account in Airy's "Westminster 

illustrated study of this old and famous 



John Bull 



Irving 's essay on "John Bull" is quite different from Goldsmith's 
reflections on the same subject; the reading of the earlier papers 
suggests, however, that the author of "John Bull " was familiar with 
them. See "The Sentiments of a Frenchman on the Temper of the 
English," in "The Bee," pp. 435-437, Goldsmith's Works, Vol. II, 
" Bell and Bans," 1884, and "The Influence of Climate and Soil upon 
the Tempers and Dispositions of the English," Letter xci, in "A 
Citizen of the World," also Letter xc, "The English Subject to the 



NOTES 403 

Spleen." . . . "When the men of this country are once turned of 
thirty-three they regularly retire every year at proper intervals to lie 
in of the spleen." 

John Bull. The story of the development of the typical figure 
of John Bull is, in reality, the history of caricature in England. The 
Reformation, in the sixteenth century, following, as it did, immedi- 
ately upon the first general diffusion of printed matter, gave rise to 
a crop of caricatures. In free Holland, the home of printing-presses, 
caricatures were at once domesticated, and cartoons issuing from 
thence circulated freely in England. In the seventeenth century, 
Cavaliers and Roundheads seized upon caricature as a means of 
effective appeal to the commonalty, and from this time the habit 
was thoroughly established in Great Britain. The wits and humor- 
ists of the eighteenth century did much to strengthen the taste for 
caricature in the English public and cartoons soon became an im- 
portant aid in all political controversies as well as a means of satir- 
izing social foibles. The great wars at the end of the century, 
especially the American Revolution and the Napoleonic wars, called 
forth such a multitude of cartoons that it is quite possible to trace 
the history of the time in the caricatures of the day. Among these, 
certain figures gradually became typical, and thus national charac- 
teristics were, in reality, fixed in humorous form, and have been handed 
down, composite photographs, as it were, of the men of that day and 
nationality. 

The name John Bull appears in Dr. Arbuthnot's famous tract, 
"The History of John Bull," published in 1712, and it was used 
occasionally as a legend under caricatures, throughout the century, 
until in the reign of George the Third, figure and name were fixed 
in use by the genius of two or three great cartoonists. The famous 
cartoonist of Irving 's own day, in England, was George Cruikshank, 
who, later, illustrated "The Sketch-Book." 

Stratford-on-Avon 

175 : 1. The mood here suggested is that of Goldsmith in "A 
Reverie in Boar's Head Tavern, in Eastcheap." The starting- 
point of the adventurous fancies of either humorist seems the same, 
and the words of one remind us of the other. Goldsmith wrote, 
"Such were the reflections that naturally arose while I sat at the 
Boar's Head Tavern, still kept at Eastcheap. Here by a pleasant 
fire, in the very room where old Sir John Falstaff cracked his jokes, 
in the very chair which was honored by Prince Henry, and some- 
times polluted by his immoral merry companions, I sat and rumi- 
nated." . . . "Shall I not take mine ease in mine inn?" is quoted 
from Falstaff, " Henry IV," Part I, Act iii, Sc. 3, 1. 93. 

175 : 1. In "Life and Letters," Vol. II., p. 220, is a charming ac- 
count of a later visit paid by Irving to the Red Horse Inn ; the same 



404 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

landlady who had entertained him at the time of the visit recorded in 
"The Sketch-Book" was there, and she brought forth a poker on 
which she had caused to be engraved the words, "Geoffrey Crayon's 
Sceptre." 

176 : 2. Garrick and the Jubilee. David Garrick made his d^but 
in "Richard III.," in 1741, and from that time to his death, in 1779, 
he was the most distinguished actor of Shakespearian parts. Sidney 
Lee attributes to his genius and ability the great service of creating 
a taste for Shakespeare which has been lasting. The Jubilee, cele- 
brated for three days, September 6-8, 1760, at Stratford, was under 
the direction of Garrick, Boswell, and Dr. Arne. Since the publi- 
cation of "The Sketch-Book" other Shakespeare festivals have been 
held at Stratford. 

177 : 4. Irving 's phrase is misleading. Shakespeare's father was 
a man of large affairs for his day. He was a trader in all manner of 
agricultural products ; he owned two freehold tenements in Strat- 
ford, and he held many offices in the town, some of them important. 

183 : 17, 18. Recent biographers of Shakespeare admit that he 
probably poached occasionally on the preserves of Sir Thomas Lucy, 
but there is little evidence of the authenticity of the lines attributed 
to him by Irving. The use of Charlecote as the seat of Justice Shallow, 
and the satire of Lucy's armorial bearings in the play, indicate that 
the dramatist had an old score of some sort to pay. 

Irving suggested to Leslie the subject of Shakespeare brought up 
for deer-stealing, having a picture in his own mind, which the artist 
after repeated efforts could not bring out. In September, 1821, 
artist and author started together on an excursion in pursuit of 
materials. — "Life and Letters," Vol. I, p. 397. 

The scene in wlaich last year's pippins were served is in "Henry 
IV," Part II, Act v, Sc. 3, 11. 1-9. The feast of pigeons and kickshaws 
is in "Henry IV," Part II, Act v, Sc. 1. 

185 : 20, note. Sack. A kind of dry sherry wine. Ruskin says 
that the vineyard of Machanudo (in Spain), which his father's part- 
ner owned, has, by the quality of its vintage, fixed the standard of 
"Xeres Sack, " or dry sherry, from the days of Henry V to the present 
time. 

189 : 29. The form of Charlecote Hall is supposed by some writers 
to have been designed in the form of the letter E, in honor of Queen 
Elizabeth. 

190-195 : 30, 32, 35, 37. It is worthy of note that in the years in 
which Irving wrote "The Sketch-Book, " his artist friends, Leslie 
and Newton, were engaged upon Shakespearian subjects. Irving 
writes, in 1818, "Leslie has just finished a very beautiful little picture 
of Anne Page inviting Master Slender into the house. . . . Falstaff 
and Shallow are seen through a window in the background." 

— "Life and Letters," Vol. I, p. 300. 



NOTES 405 

In 1819, toward the end of the year, Irving mentions Newton's 
"Uttle fancy piece of Falstaff's escape in the buck-basket," as a piece 
of great merit. Some years after the pubhcation of "The Sketch- 
Book," in 1829, Leslie was engaged upon a large painting, the subject 
of which reminds us, in turn, of Irving 's description, — "Falstaff 
regaling at the table of Justice Swallow." 

— "Life and Letters," Vol. II, p. 181. 
194:36. The quotation is from "Henry IV," Part II, Act v, 
Sc. 3, 1. 37. 

Abbotsford 

198 : 1. "Abbotsford" was written in 1835, nearly twenty years 
after the visit occurred, and was published in "Crayon Miscellany," 
No. 2. 

198 : 2. Consult the atlas for the geography of the country. 
The whole region is so full of historical and literary associations that 
pains should be taken to coordinate with the story of Irving 's visit 
the events, persons, and literature of which his own thought was 
full at this time. Abundant aid for those interested is to be found 
in ordinary text-books of history, of literature, and in guide books, 
keys to characters and places in Scott's writings, etc. Irving 's 
experience is an illustration of the significance and delight that the 
traveller who is well read finds wherever he goes. 

199 : 4. Abbotsford, Scott's home. Scott's residence on the banks 
of the Tweed was in the beginning determined by the requirement 
that sheriffs must reside for four months in each year in the counties 
to which they were appointed. He had received, in 1799, an appoint- 
ment as Deputy Sheriff of Selkirkshire, an office in which the duties 
were light, while the annual salary was sufficient to free him. from the 
routine practice in his own profession of the law. In 1804, on ac- 
count of a complaint from the Lord-Lieutenant of Selkirkshire that 
he had not complied with the requirement of his position, Scott leased 
the farm-house and farm of Ashestiel on the Tweed. In 1811, the 
Clerks of Sessions, by a reform in the courts, began to receive a fixed 
salary of £1300 a year, instead of fees. This brought Scott, who 
had long held the office without remuneration, an income which war- 
ranted the purchase of a farm a few miles distant from Ashestiel. 
The place held a special interest for him from an incident in his 
boyhood. When travelling from Selkirk to Melrose with his father, 
the old man had suddenly halted the carriage, and conducted his son 
to a hill half a mile above the Tweed at Abbotsford, where a rude 
stone marked " the scene of the last great clan-battle of the Borders." 

In the beginning, the farm was in a wretched state and the only 
bmldings were small and poor. It had been called Clarty Hole 
from a filthy duck-pond in the foreground. Scott, however, saw 
possibihties in the site and set to work with his usual impetuous en- 



406 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

thusiasm. He at once claimed for his place the name of the ford used 
by the Abbots of the proprietary Abbey of Melrose, and erected a 
comfortable but modest cottage, a picture of which is given on p. 201. 
In succeeding years his literary success and increasing prosperity sug- 
gested the plan of the more stately and expensive Abbotsford. At 
the time of Irving's visit, in 1817, the new building was well under 
way, but the family life still went on in the cottage first erected by 
Scott. The story is told in Lockhart's "Life of Scott," Vol. Ill, but 
is mingled with the narrative of other things, a bit here, and a bit there. 

200:7. Lockhart says that Scott had received "The History of 
New York" by Knickerbocker in 1812, from Mr. Brevoort, an Ameri- 
can traveller, whom readers of Irving's life will recognize. 

— "Life of Scott," Vol. V, p. 53. 

206 : 27. Adam Fergusson (Lockhart's spelling of the name) 
was son of the celebrated Professor Fergusson, and Scott's intimacy 
with him began in his school days. Later Fergusson introduced his 
friend to the literary circles of Edinburgh ; they were comrades in 
the speculative society, in their studies, and in extended excursions 
to every accessible part of the country. 

207 : 31. A Roman road ran from Eildon Hills down to the ford. 
Eildon stone, Eildon tree, and Huntley bank are famous in "Border 
Minstrelsy." Here was the haunted glen of Thomas the Rhymer. 
The spot was a favorite one with Scott and Irving recurs to it in 
paragraphs 105, 107, 108, and 149. 

Kipling has celebrated the "gates o' Faerie" in "The Last Rhyme 
of True Thomas." 

208 :36. Edie Ochiltree. See paragraph 112, note. 

209 : 37. Ettrick. The valley of the Ettrick river in Selkirkshire. 
Ettrick forest was formerly a royal hunting tract. James Hogg, 
the poet, mentioned in paragraph 153, was born in this vale, and was 
sometimes called the "Ettrick shepherd." 

209 : 37. Braes of Yarrow. The Yarrow is a small river flowing 
into the Ettrick before its junction, near Selkirk, with the Tweed. 
Burns uses the phrases "Yarrow braes" and "Ettrick shaws" in a 
little poem to the "Braw Lads o' Galla Water." 

210 :40. "Cairn gorm," from the name of a mountain, meaning 
blue cairn, between the shires of Aberdeen, Banff, and Inverness : 
a precious stone of yellow or wine color, in common use for ornaments 
worn with Highland costumes. — Oxford Dictionary. 

218 : 60. Mungo Park was a Scotsman, a native of Selkirkshire, 
and born in the same year as Scott himself. He was famous for his 
travels in Africa : in 1805, he was sent in command of a military ex- 
pedition to explore the Niger river, and after descending it for 1500 
miles he was killed, with the small remnant of his party, by the 
natives. 

218:62. Scott's fondness for antiquarian relics is illustrated in 



NOTES 407 

the picture of Scott reading in his library, painted by Sir W. Allan 
in 1832; see p. 217. This painting was the last portrait for which 
Sir Walter Scott sat. The following note by the painter is quoted 
from the Catalogue of the Royal Academy, in 1832 : — 

"The still life of the picture is painted from the original in Abbots-. 
ford. The vase was the gift of Lord Byron. The keys, hanging by 
the window, are those of the Heart of Midlothian, or the old Tolbooth 
of Edinburgh. The sword suspended from the bookcase belonged to 
Montrose ; and the rifle surmounting the various articles hanging 
over the mantel-piece, to Spechbacker, the Tyrolese patriot. Near 
the bookcase are hung an ancient border bugle, James the Sixth's 
travelling flask, and the sporan, or purse, of Rob Roy McGregor. 
Behind the bust of Shakespeare is Rob Roy's long gun, above which 
is Claverhouse's pistol, and below, a brace, formerly the property of 
Napoleon. The staghound lying at Sir Walter's feet is Maida, his 
old favorite. He is represented as seated in his study, reading the 
proclamation of Mary, Queen of Scots, previous to her marriage 
with Lord Darnley." 

228 : 97, The London Magazine, Vol. I, p. 11, contains an article 
on the authorship of Scottish hovels, and many others may be found 
in the files of magazines of the period. 

230 : 105. See note for paragraph 31, p. 207. 

233 : 112. See paragraph 36. 

236 : 126, 130. Sandy Knowe. Robert Scott, Sir Walter's grand- 
father, held the farm of Sandy Knowe, including Smallholm tower, 
by lease. The old shepherd mentioned in paragraphs 129-130 was 
a man named Hogg who had loaned all his savings to Robert Scott 
to purchase stock for Sandy Knowe. The story of how the money 
was foolishly spent for a high spirited horse is told in Scott's auto- 
biography. 

241 : 137. The most interesting account of Scott's childhood and 
youth is found in his autobiography. His life at Sandy Knowe, 
his love of sport, his fondness for odd characters, especially such as 
could tell him stories of olden times, or of feuds and border warfare, 
are all narrated in his own words. 

242 : 140. Dryburgh, including the Abbey, was a part of the patri- 
monial estate of the wife of Scott's grandfather and would have de- 
scended to Scott's father had not the grand uncle in whose possession 
it was become bankrupt and sold it. The right of burial in the resting- 
place of the family was, however, retained. 

244 : 149. See note on paragraph 31. 

262 : 172. "The Abbotsford Family," was painted by Sir David 
Wilkie in 1817, for Sir Adam Fergusson, and was exhibited in 1818. 
It represents Sir Walter, his family, Fergusson, and an old dependent 
masquerading in the garb of South country peasants. In the back- 
ground is the top of Cowden Knowe, and the Tweed and Melrose 



408 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

are introduced as seen from a hill near by. Captain Fergusson and 
his family occupied the mansion house on the lands of Toftfield, which 
Scott had recently purchased ; the intimacy between Scott and Adam 
Fergusson began when both were schoolboys. Wilkie, the artist, 
arrived, as Irving narrates, during the visit described in "Abbots- 
ford." See picture on p. 255. 

254:174. Scott's conversational gifts. See Lockhart's "Life of 
Scott," Vol. II, p. 317, for a memorandum of another of Scott's 
visitors, touching on several points in Irving's essay. 

254 : 176. Jeffrey. Francis Jeffrey with Sidney Smith and 
Henrj' Brougham, in 1802, founded the Edinburgh Review. In 1803 
Jeffrey became editor and in that capacity conducted the Review 
until 1820. This Review became a power through the brilliancy of 
the articles appearing in it and the fearless attitude of the editors 
toward all kinds of abuses and incompetence. It was especially 
severe in criticising the work of young authors, One of the founders 
wrote the scathing review of Byron's "Hours of Idleness," which 
so angered him that he wrote "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers," 
in reply. 

Rip Van Winkle 

For an account of Diedrich Knickerbocker, Irving's alter ego, see 
the preface of "Knickerbocker's History of New York." Once he 
had created the old Dutch historian, Irving became so fond of him 
that he could not lay aside the fancy; Diedrich appears in "Tales 
of a Traveller," and in more than one of the papers of "Wolfert's 
Roost." Irving's account of how he revisited Sleepy Hollow with the 
historian is especially entertaining. 

The dramatization of Rip Van Winkle. For an account of the dra- 
matization of Rip Van Winkle, see Chs. viii and xvi, in Jefferson's 
"Autobiography," and the introduction to "Rip Van Winkle as 
played by Joseph Jefferson." The impersonation of Joseph Jefferson 
has displaced all earlier interpretations of the character of Rip, and 
even in subordinate parts characters and scenes have been derived 
from the play. 

A most interesting contrast may be discovered by comparing 
Murray's illustrations of "The Sketch-Book," in early editions, pub- 
lished in London and the drawings of artists in this country, done 
before the dramatization of Rip Van Winkle, with the pictures of 
characters or scenes commonly published at the present time. The 
termagant wife, altogether unlovely, has given place to a younger, 
more comely woman, much tried, who may, on a pinch, command 
our sympathy. She, moreover, betrays a weakness for her vagrant 
husband, and survives, by the law of dramatic necessity, to welcome 
him back. So lovable and so real has been this Rip of Jefferson's 
creation that both artists and readers accept him as the original, 
veritable Rip of Irving's imagination. 



NOTES 409 

267 : 1. Peter Stuyvesant was the last director-general of the 
New Netherlands, and in 1664 surrendered that colony to the Eng- 
lish. Irving 's humorous description of the Dutch governor and his 
exploits, including the famous expedition to capture Fort Christina, 
will be found in "Knickerbocker's History of New York," Vol. V, 
Ch. viii. The historical Stuyvesant may be found in any good his- 
tory of the colonial period. 

274:17. The dress of "antique Dutch fashion" is described in 
"Knickerbocker's History of New York," Vol. II, Ch. ii, last 
paragraph. 

276 : 21. Fell into a deep sleep. In the legendary history of past 
ages are many stories of sleepers, and in all nations loved heroes at 
their death have left behind, in tradition, the prophecy of a return 
after many years. The story of the twenty years' sleep of Rip Van 
Winkle is an Americanized version, suggested probably by old Ger- 
man legends of the Hartz mountains, in one of which it is narrated 
that Peter Klaus, a goatherd from Sittendorf, met a party of knights 
playing at skittles in a dell of these mountains, and drank a miraculous 
draught of wine which put him to sleep for twenty years. The magic 
drinking potion played a great role in the days of the old romance, 
and a hundred uses of it lie ready in the fertile brain of any writer who 
is well versed in mediaeval literature. 

But, in truth, the real source of the legend of the Catskills lies in 
the romantic brooding fancies of an imaginative boy who idled on 
the deck of the slow-going boats as they travelled up the Hudson, 
and pleased himself with weaving into the beauty and mystery 
of the mountains the tales that had charmed him ; they grew, thus, 
to the reality of vision, and in his memory scenes and fancies mingled 
inextricably. In after years, the form of the legend, from whatever 
old tales he borrowed it, was little more than a means through which 
his roving fancy found an expression holding for us all the vitality 
of real experience because, once, in his golden days, it was real to the 
one who wrote of it. 

280 : 32. Federal or Democrat. The parties referred to are those 
of Washington's and Adams's administrations. The rise of the Demo- 
cratic party as known to us was in a later period. See school his- 
tories of the United States for a definition of these parties and of 
their principles at the time of Rip's return. 

284 : 44. It seems probable that the name of Henry Hudson's 
ship, the Half-Moon, was derived from a sign in frequent use in his 
day, in London. In the uncancelled scores of the ale-wives, the 
Half-Moon stood for sixpence. In a seventeenth-century song we 
read of the ale-wife who 

" Writes at night and at noon 
For tester half a moon ; 
And great round O for a shilling, " 



410 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

An inn, much frequented by sailors, bore the name and displayed the 
sign, a wooden crescent gilt. As the Dutch eel boats habitually 
moored off Billingsgate, near which the Half-Moon tavern stood, it 
seems probable that the sign was familiar to those who came and 
went on the water for many years before the Half-Moon sailed with 
an English master and a Dutch crew in search of the northwest 
passage to the Indies. 

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow 

Preliminary Note. The story of the writing of the "Legend of 
Sleepy Hollow" is in "Life and Letters," Vol. I, p. 346. Irving's 
description of old Tarrytown is in "Life and Letters," Vol. II, p. 369. 

296 : 1. See "Knickerbocker's History of New York," for Irving's 
account of how St. Nicholas became patron saint of the burghers who 
settled Manhattoes and the adjoining country. 

297:3. Shakespeare's phrase is "the night-mare and her nine- 
fold," "King Lear," Act iii, Sc. 4, 1. 126. 

298:4. The legend of the "Wild Huntsman" is very old, and 
appears in many forms. In pagan times the wild huntsman was 
Woden himself. Later, in the Hartz mountains, the Wild Huntsman 
and the Wandering Jew were regarded as the same. — "Legends and 
Tales of the Hartz Mountains," p. 120, by Toofie Lauder. 

299 : 8-11. In McMaster'§ "History of the People of the United 
States," Vol I, p. 21, is a brief account of schools and schoolmasters 
in early times. 

314 : 34. The description of Ichabod mounted on his steed 
suggests remotely Don Quixote and his Rosinante. 

319 :47. For some of the myths and legends associated with this 
region see "Chronicles of Tarrytown," pp. 97-151. 

319 : 49. John Paulding was leader of the band that captured 
Major Andr6, and Isaac Van Wart was one of the company. It will 
be remembered that one of Irving's sisters married Henry Van Wart, 
and that his brother William married a sister of James K. Paulding, 
who afterwards was one of the authors of the "Salmagundi Papers" 
and Irving's intimate friend. The stories of Andre's capture must 
therefore have been a local tradition handed down in the family, 
and the spot, familiar in boyhood, had long been associated in his 
minfl with romantic tales. 

323:57. Major Andr6's tree, — see note on paragraph 49. 



BIBLIOGRAPHY 

References for the Study of The Sketch-Book 

Books which should be Owned 

The Sketch-Book. 

A good map of England and Scotland. 

Some Life of Irving. 

Books of Reference for the Library 

a. Irving' s life and work : - — 

Life and Letters of Washington Irving, by Pierre M. 

Irving, Putnam. 
Washington Irving, by C. D. Warner, in American Men 

of Letters Series. 
Washington Irving, by Henry W. Boynton, Boston. 
Studies of Irving, by C. D. Warner, Putnam, 1880. 
Washington Irving, by D. J. Hill, American Authors 

Seri^. 
Washington Irving, by E. W. Morse, Warner's Classics. 
Washington Irving, in Wendell's Literary History of 

America, Book IV, Ch. ii. 
Washington Irving, by Richard Garnett, in Encyclo- 
paedia Britannica, Vol. XIII. 
Washington Irving' s Services to American History, in 

Literary Likings, by Richard Burton. 
Nil Nisi Bonum, by W. M. Thackeray, in the Cornhill 

Magazine, Feb., 1860; reprinted in Roundabout 

Papers. 
American Literature, by C. F. Richardson, Ch. vii, 

Putnam. 
The Work of Washington Irving, by C. D. Warner, in 

Harper's Black and White Series. 

b. For use with the Essays of the Sketch-Book : — 

Chronicles of Tarry town and Sleepy Hollow, by E. M. 

Bacon; illus., 1897, New York, Putnam. 
Homes and Haunts of Scott, by George S. Napier; 

Glasgow, James Maclehouse and Sons, 1897. 
Shakespeare's London, by H. T. Stephenson; 1905, New 

York, Holt and Company. 
Shakespeare's London, by William Winter; 1899, New 

York, The Macmillan Company. 
London in the Eighteenth Century, by Walter Besant; 

1902;, New York, Harpers. 

411 



412 THE SKETCH-BOOK 



Shakespeare s Town and Times, by H. S. and C. W. 
Ward; London, Dawbarn and Ward. 

The Thackeray Country, by Lewis Melville; 1905, Lon- 
don, A. and C. Black; New York, The Macmillan 
Company, 

Charterhouse, by A. H. Tod ; Handbooks to Great 
Public Schools, 1900, London, G. Bell and Sons. 

Old London Taverns, by Edward Callow; 1899, Lon- 
don, Downey and Company. 

Lord Mayor's Pageants, by F. W. Fairholt; 1893, printed 
for the Percy Society, London. 

Stratford-on-Avon, Guide Book; by Harold Baker, 
Bell and Sons. 

Popular Antiquities, by John Brand; Christmas and 
Twelfth Night Customs, pp. 241-283. An invaluable 
book in the school library, of which a new and cheap 
edition has recently been published. 
c. Dramatization of Rip Van Winkle : — 

Rip Van Winkle, as played by Joseph Jefferson; 1896, 
New York, Dodd, Mead and Company. 

How I Came to Play Rip Van Winkle, Ch. viii, pp. 
225-229, in Autobiography of Joseph Jefferson; 1890, 
New York, The Century Company. 

The New Rip Van Winkle; in Ch. xi, pp. S02-S10, ibid. 

Life and Art of Joseph Jefferson, by William Winter, 
Chap. VII ; 1894, New York, The Macmillan Company. 

How I Came to Play Rip Van Winkle, The Acting of 
Rip Van Winkle, and Rip Van Winkle in Catskill, 
New York. Autobiography of Joseph Jefferson, Ch. 
viii, 225-229; Ch. xvi, 452-463; 1890, The Century 
Company, New York. 

Books containing Plans, Illustrations, and Descriptions 
OF Westminster Abbey, Westminster School, etc. 

a. For the school library : — 

Abbey and Church of Westminster, by Charles Hiatt; 
Bell's Cathedral Series, London. 

Westminster Abbey, by G. E. Troutbeck; Methuen and 
Company, London; Boston, L. C. Page and Company. 

Westminster, by R. Airy ; Handbooks to Great Public 
Schools, London, 1902, G. Bell and Sons. 

Roll Call of Westminster Abbey, by E. T. Bradley; 
London, 1902, Smith and Elder. Contains pictures 
of Monuments, Tombs, etc., with interesting de- 
scriptions. 

The Deanery Guide to Westminster Abbey, 12th ed.; 
London, 1900, Pall Mall Gazette. 



BIBLIOGRAPHY 413 



b. For consultation in libraries, for illustrations : — 

The History of the Abbey Church of St. Peter's, 

Westminster, its Antiquities and Monuments, 2 vols., 

London, R. Ackermann. (It is possible to follow the 

walls of the abbey entirely around, by illustrations 

given in this volume. The illustrations are fine, 

especially of the Poets' Corner, etc.) 
Seventy-one Views of Westminster Abbey, mounted 

in a portfolio; photographed by S. B. Bolas and 

Company, London. 
Westminster Abbey, by W. J. Loftie; illus., London, 

1890, and 1891, Seeley and Company. 
The Abbey and Palace of Westminster; a book of 

views photographed by John Harrington, Sampson 

Low, Son, and Marston, London. 
Westminster, by Sir Walter Besant, London, 1895, 

Chatto and Windus. 
The History and Antiquities of the Abbey Church of 

St. Peter's, Westminster, by E. W. Brayley, London, 

1818-23. 
Westminster Abbey. Historical Description, etc., by 

H. J. Feasey; London, 1899, Bell and Sons. 
Historical Memorials of Westminster Abbey, by A. P. 

Stanley, London. 
Gleanings from Westminster Abbey, George Gilbert 

Scott, Parker, Oxford and London, 1863. 

Selections from Irving' s Writings for Use as Supple- 
mentary Reading with The Sketch-Book 

In Tales of a Traveller: — 

The Money Diggers. 

Kidd, the Pirate. 
In Bracebridge Hall : — 

The Hall. 

Annette Delabre. 

The Stout Gentleman. 

The Storm Ship. 

Dolph Heyliger. 

May Day Customs. 

May Day. 
In Knickerbocker^ s History of New York : — 

Expedition against Fort Christina. 

Sketch of Wouter Van T wilier. 
In Crayon Miscellany : — 

Newstead Abbey, especially the chapter, Plough Monday, 
and The Little White Lady. 



414 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

In Wolfert's Roost: — 
Wolfert s Roost. 
The Story of Mountjoy, or Some Passages out of the Life of a 

Castle Builder. 
The Bermudas, a Shakespearian Research. 
The Early Experiences of Ralph Ringwood. 
The Englishman at Paris "I • oi + i, c t> • 

Enghsh and French Character ^^ Sketches from Pans. 

The Birds of Spring. 
In Biographies and Miscellanies : — 
Sleepy Hollow, p. 425. 
The Catskill Mountains, p. 480. 
In Life and Letters : — 

Visits at Barborough Hall, Vol. II, pp. 216 and 219. 
Visit at Abbotsford, Vol. I, Ch. xxi. 
Magazine Articles : — 

A few references to essays and critical reviews of The Sketch- 

Book, or of the style and characteristics of Washington 

Irving. 
North American Review, Vol. IX, p. 322; Review by R. H. 

Dana. 
Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, 1820, Vol. VI, p. 566. 

Review of No. III., of The Sketch-Book, Vol. VII, p. 366. 

Review of Knickerbocker's History of New York. 
Quarterly Review, 1821, Vol. XXV, p. 50; Review of The 

Sketch-Book. 
Harper's New Magazine, Vol. XX, March, 1860, p. 542. 

Reprint of Thackeray's "Nil Nisi Bonum." 
Harper's New Magazine, Vol. IV, April, 1876, "The Romance 

of the Hudson," illus. 
Harper's New Magazine, Vol. XXIV, Feb., 1862, pp. 349- 

356. Washington Irving, by James Wynne. 
Harper's New Magazine, April, 1883. Frontis. portrait by 

Stuart Newton ; owned by Murray. 
The New England Magazine, Vol. XXIII, p. 449; The Coun- 
try of Washington Irving, by H. E. Miller. 
The Critic, Vol. Ill, March 31, 1883; The Irving Number. 
The Critic, Vol. Ill, p. 140, 1883; Review by E. W. Gosse. 

Key to Illustrations of "Westminster Abbey," in Single 
Books, Usually Found in Large Libraries 

By following the order of the numbers for pages or plates the illus- 
trations in each book will fall into consecutive order, with reference 
to Irving's progress ; that is, with reference to the building itself, 
In the use of these illustrations the plan of the Abbey and its enclo- 
sure on p. 379 will be of great use. Several of the books and portfolios 
pan be found only in large libraries; others may be added to the 



BIBLIOGRAPHY 415 

library of any high school. In many states, sets of books or pictures 
may be obtained for illustrating " Westminster Abbey " from the Trav- 
elling Libraries. Guide books may be obtained and cut up to fur- 
nish pictures for mounting. 

"Westminster Abbey," by W. J. Loftie, Seeley and Company, 
London. 

I. Outer Circuit : pages 5, 9, 49, 95, 77, 61, 57, 13, 43, 29, 21, 227, 
311. 

II. Entering from the Little Dean's yard : pages 301, 32, 38, 41, 
205, 202, 199, 207, 308, 305, 17, 251, 83, 167, 255, 211, 88, 293, 171, 
163, 193, 279, 191, 313, 159, [212, 223, 233, 231]. Chapel St. Edmund. 
Frontispiece (see also 113), 220, 265, Henry VII 's Chapel, entrance* 
265. Interior: pages 129, 151, 137, 133, 141, 145, 148, 155, 149, 
261, 273. Pages 116, 175, 179, 243, 239 (The Nightingale monument 
of Irving's description), 247, 105, 217, 101, 122, 119, 109, 113, 91, 
[116, 88]. 

Portfolio, 71 Views of Westminster Ahhey, Photographs by S. B. Bolas 

and Company. Reprinted from the Architect and Contract 

Reporter. 

Outside : plates 58, 59, 27, [21, 69], 22, 4, 15, 32, 51, 48, 50, 33, 
36, 37, 25, 47, 44, 24, 45, 68, 61, 7, [10, 18]. 

Inside : (Numbers bracketted are details, and may be omitted) ; 
plates 17, [41], 1, [49, also 20], [46], [9, 5, 3, 52, also 8], 6, [14], 8, 13 
(Poets' Corner), 2, 11, 34, 28, 43, 26, [16], 38, [19, 30]. Inside gates 
of Henry VII's Chapel, pages 31, 65, 64, 67, [53, 56, 57], 60, [62, 63, 
70], 66, [12, 35]. 

Pages 29 (exterior chapel of St. John Baptist, interior in 35), 23, 
20 (also 23, and 12), [71], 40, 55, 39, 42, 54. 
The Ahhey and Palace of Westminster, Photographs by Harrington,. 

Sampson Low, Son, and Marston. 

Exterior : plates i, v, ii, iii, vi, iv. 

Interior : plates vii, viii, ix (pulpit in vii), x, xi, xii, xiii, xiv, xvi. 
Chapel Henry VII, plates xxi-xxv, xvii, xviii, xx, xix. 

In palace section, xv. College garden. 
Ahhey and Church of Westminster, Bell's Cathedral Series, by Charles 

Hiatt. 

Pages 3 (Bayeux tapestry. Abbey from north), 16, 14, 22, 25, 2, 
17, [124]. Frontispiece; pages 29, 7, 114, 118, 117, 119, 121, 115, 
126, 122, 123 (plan of Abbey), 112 (plan of Convent buildings). 

Interior: pages 32, 56, 59, 61, 43, 48, 51, 71, 79, 96, 97, 100, 101, 
104, 105, 107, 69, 84, 68, 66, 73, 75, 76, 89, 92. 



IRVING'S APPENDIX 

NOTES CONCERNING WESTMINSTER ABBEY 

Toward the end of the sixth century, when Britain, under the 
dominion of the Saxons, was in a state of barbarism and idolatry, 
Pope Gregory the Great, struck with the beauty of some Anglo-Saxon 
youths exposed for sale in the market-place at Rome, conceived a 
fancy for the race, and determined to send missionaries to preach the 
gospel among these comely but benighted islanders. He was en- 
couraged to this by learning that Ethelbert, king of Kent, and the 
most potent of the Anglo-Saxon princes, had married Bertha, a 
Christian princess, only daughter of the king of Paris, and that she 
was allowed by stipulation the full exercise of her religion. 

The shrewd Pontiff knew the influence of the sex in matters of reli- 
gious faith. He forthwith despatched Augustine, a Roman monk, 
with forty associates, to the court of Ethelbert at Canterbury, to effect 
the conversion of the king and to obtain through him a foothold in the 
island. 

Ethelbert received them warily, and held a conference in the open 
air ; being distrustful of foreign priestcraft, and fearful of spells and 
magic. They ultimately succeeded in making him as good a Chris- 
tian as his wife ; the conversion of the king of course produced the 
conversion of his loyal subjects. The zeal and success of Augustine 
were rewarded by his being made archbishop of Canterbury, and be- 
ing endowed with authority over all the British churches. 

One of the most prominent converts was Segebert of Sebert, king 
of the East Saxons, a nephew of Ethelbert. He reigned at London, 
of which Mellitus, one of the Roman monks who had come over with 
Augustine, was made bishop. 

Sebert, in 605, in his religious zeal, founded a monastery by the 
river-side to the west of the city, on the ruins of a temple of Apollo, 
being, in fact, the origin of the present pile of Westminster Abbey. 
Great preparations were made for the consecration of the church, 
which was to be dedicated to St. Peter. On the morning of the ap- 
pointed day Mellitus, the bishop, proceeded with great pomp and 
solemnity to perform the ceremony. On approaching the edifice he 
was met by a fisherman, who informed him that it was needless to 
proceed, as the ceremony was over. The bishop stared with sur- 
prise, when the fisherman went on to relate, that the night before, 
as he was in his boat on the Thames, St. Peter appeared to him, and 
told him that he intended to consecrate the church himself, that very 
night. The apostle accordingly went into the church, which sud- 
denly became illuminated. The ceremony was performed in sumptu- 
oiis style, accompanied by strains of heavenly music and clouds of 
fragrant incense. After this, the apostle came into the boat and 
ordered the fisherman to cast his net. He did so, and had a miracu- 
lous draught of fishes; one of which he was commanded to present 

416 



APPENDIX 417 

to the bishop, and to signify to him that the apostle had relieved him 
from the necessity of consecrating the church. 

Mellitus was a wary man, slow of belief, and required confirmation 
of the fisherman's tale. He opened the church-doors, and beheld 
wax candles, crosses, holy water; oil sprinkled in various places, 
and various other traces of a grand ceremonial. If he had still any 
lingering doubts, they were completely removed on the fisherman's 
producing the identical fish which he had been ordered by the apostle 
to present to him. To resist this would have been to resist ocular 
demonstration. The good bishop accordingly was convinced that the 
church had actually been consecrated by St. Peter in person ; so he 
reverently abstained from proceeding further in the business. 

The foregoing tradition is said to be the reason why King Edward 
the Confessor chose this place as the site of a religious house which he 
meant to endow. He pulled down the old church and built another 
in its place in 1045. In this his remains were deposited in a magnifi- 
cent shrine. 

The sacred edifice again underwent modifications, if not a recon- 
struction, by Henry III, in 1220, and began to assume its present 
appearance. 

Under Henry VIII it lost its conventual character, that monarch 
turning the monks away, and seizing upon the revenues. 

RELICS OF EDWARD THE CONFESSOR 

A curious narrative was printed in 1688, by one of the choristers 
of the cathedral, who appears to have been the Paul Pry of the sacred 
edifice, giving an account of his rummaging among the bones of 
Edward the Confessor, after they had quietly reposed in their sepul- 
chre upwards of six hundred years, and of his drawing forth the 
crucifix and golden chain of the deceased monarch. During eighteen 
years that he had officiated in the choir, it had been a common tra- 
dition, he says, among his brother choristers and the gray-headed 
servants of the abbey, that the body of King Edward was deposited 
in a kind of chest or coffin, which was indistinctly seen in the upper 
part of the shrine erected to his memory. None of the abbey gossips, 
however, had ventured upon a nearer inspection, until the worthy 
narrator, to gratify his curiosity, mounted to the coffin by the aid of 
a ladder, and found it to be made of wood, apparently very strong 
and firm, being secured by bands of iron. 

Subsequently, in 1685, on taking down the scaffolding used in the 
coronation of James II, the coffin was found to be broken, a hole 
appearing in the lid, probably made, through accident, by the 
workmen. No one ventured, however, to meddle with the sacred 
depository of royal dust, until, several weeks afterwards, the circum- 
stance came to the knowledge of the aforesaid chorister. He forth- 
with repaired to the abbey in company with two friends, of congenial 
tastes, who were desirous of inspecting the tombs. Procuring a lad- 
der, he again mounted to the coffin, and found, as had been repre- 
sented, a hole in the lid about six inches long and four inches broad, 
just in front of the left breast. Thrusting in his hand, and groping 
among the bones, he drew from underneath the shoulder a crucifix, 
richly adorned and enamelled, affixed to a gold chain twenty-four 



418 THE SKETCH-BOOK 

inches long. These he showed to his inquisitive friends, who were 
equally surprised with himself. 

"At the time," says he, "when I took the cross and chain out of the 
coffin, / drew the head to the hole and viewed it, being very sound and 
firm, with the upper and nether jaws whole and full of teeth, and a 
list of gold above an inch broad, in the nature of a coronet, surround- 
ing the temples. There was also in the coffin, white linen and gold- 
colored flowered silk, that looked indifferent fresh ; but the least stress 
put thereto showed it was wellnigh perished. There were all his 
bones, and much dust likewise, which I left as I found." 

It is difficult to conceive a more grotesque lesson to human pride 
than the skull of Edward the Confessor thus irreverently pulled about 
in its coffin by a prying chorister, and brought to grin face to face 
with him through a hole in the lid ! 

Having satisfied his curiosity, the chorister put the crucifix and 
chain back again into the coffin, and sought the dean, to apprise him 
of his discovery. The dean not being accessible at the time, and 
fearing that the "holy treasure" might be taken away by other hands, 
he got a brother chorister to accompany him to the shrine about two 
or three hours afterwards, and in his presence again drew forth the 
relics. These he afterwards delivered on his knees to King James. 
The king subsequently had the old coffin inclosed in a new one of 
great strength: "each plank being two inches thick and cramped 
together with large iron wedges, where it now remains (1688) as a 
testimony of his pious care, that no abuse might be offered to the 
sacred ashes therein deposited." 

As the history of this shrine is full of moral, I subjoin a description 
of it in modern times. "The solitary and forlorn shrine," says a 
British writer, "now stands a mere skeleton of what it was. A few 
faint traces of its sparkling decorations inlaid on solid mortar catches 
the rays of the sun, forever set on its splendor. . . . Only two of 
the spiral pillars remain. The wooden Ionic top is much broken, and 
covered with dust. The mosaic is picked away in every part within 
reach, only the lozenges of about a foot square and five circular pieces 
of the rich marble remain." — Malcom, Lond. rediv. 

INSCRIPTION ON A MONUMENT ALLUDED TO IN THE 

SKETCH 

Here lyes the Loyal Duke of Newcastle, and his Duchess his second 
wife, by whom he had no issue. Her name was Margaret Lucas, 
youngest sister to the Lord Lucas of Colchester, a noble family ; for 
all the brothers were valiant, and all the sisters virtuous. This Duch- 
ess was a wise, witty, and learned lady, which her many Bookes do 
well testify : she was a most virtuous, and loving and careful wife, 
and was with her lord all the time of his banishment and miseries, 
and when he came home, never parted from him in his solitary retire- 
ments. 



In the winter time, when the days are short, the service in the after- 
noon is performed by the light of tapers. The effect is fine of the 
choir partially Ughted up, while the main body of the cathedral and 



APPENDIX 419 



the transepts are in profound and cavernous darkness. The white 
dresses of the choristers gleam amidst the deep brown of the open slats 
and canopies; the partial illumination makes enormous shadows 
from columns and screens, and darting into the surrounding gloom, 
catches here and there upon a sepulchral decoration, or monumental 
effigy. The swelling notes of the organ accord well with the scene. 
When the service is over the dean is lighted to his dwelling, in the 
old conventual part of the pile, by the boys of the choir, in their white 
dresses, bearing tapers, and the procession passes through the abbey 
and along the shadowy cloisters, lighting up angles and arches and 
grim sepulchral monuments, and leaving all behind in darkness. 



On entering the cloisters at night from what is called the Dean's 
Yard, the eye ranging through a dark vaulted passage catches a dis- 
tant view of a white marble figure reclining on a tomb, on which a 
strong glare thrown by a gas-light has quite a spectral effect. It is 
a mural monument of one of the Pultneys. 



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TENNYSON 



THE PRINCESS 

Edited with introduction, notes, biographical outline, and bibliography by 
ANDREW J. GEORGE, A, M., editor of '< Select Poems of Words- 
worth," "Select Poems of Burns," etc. 

The Princess marks the beginning of a new period of Tennyson's work ; 
the period which produced also In Memoriam, Maud, and the Idyls. 
It lacks nothing of the lyric and picturesque qualities of the earlier poems, 
and, in addition, contains the germ of that political and ethical philosophy 
which is the distinctive note of Tennyson in the life of the century. 

This edition is an interpretative study of the thought and the literary 
merits of the poem, and contains the complete text. The notes are ex- 
cellent and will draw the student into broader fields of study. 
Cloth. 217 pages. Illustrated. Price, 40 cents. 

THE PRINCESS. Briefer Edition 

The matter included in this volume is identical in the introduction and 
text with Mr. George's larger book described above. The notes, however, 
are condensed and abridged. 

Cloth. 144 pages. Illustrated. Price, 25 cents. 

ENOCH ARDEN 

Edited by CALVIN S. BROWN, A. M. 

Has the latest text with an introduction, a chapter on prototypes of 
Enoch Arden, and notes. This volume also contains the text of Locksley 
Hall and Locksley Hall Sixty Years After, with analyses and notes. 

In preparing these notes, Tennyson has been made his own interpreter 
wherever possible. Brief critical extracts are given, and there is a bibliog- 
raphy and biographical outline of Tennyson. 

Cloth. 152 pages. Illustrated. Price, 25 cents. 

PROLEGOMENA TO IN MEMORIAM 

By THOMAS DAVIDSON, LL. D. 

The author's aim has been to bring out clearly the soul problem which 
forms its unity, and the noble solution offered by the poet. The work is 
done in the belief that In Memoriam is not only the greatest English 
poem of the century, but one of the great world poems. 

The index of the poem adds to the resources for comparative study. 
Cloth. 185 pages. Price, 50 cents. 



D. C. HEATH & CO., Publishers 

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A SHORT HISTORY OF 

AMERICAN LITERATURE 

By WALTER C. BRONSON, A.M., 
Pbofessor of English in Brown Univsrsitt 



This book is at once scholarly and attractive, adapted to the 
work of the class room, yet literary in spirit and execution. 

The literature of each period has been presented in its relation 
to the larger life of the nation, and to the Uteratures of England 
and Europe, for only so can American literature be completely 
understood and its significance fully perceived. 

The writers are treated with admirable critical judgment. 
The greater writers stand out strong and clean cut personalities. 
The minor are given brief, but clear, treatment. 

While the book lays its chief emphasis upon matters distinctly 
literary, it contains exact details about the life and writings of 
the greater authors, and is abundantiy equipped with apparatus 
for reference and study. 

The Appendix contains nearly forty pages of extracts from 
the best but less accessible colonial writers, and valuable notes 
concerning our early newspapers and magazines, a bibliography 
of Colonial and Revolutionary literature, and an index. 

No other manual of American literature says so mucii so 
well in so little space. — Walter H. Page, editor of The 
World* s Worky recently editor of The Atlantic Monthly. 

Cloth. 474 pages. Price, 80 cents. 



D. C. HEATH & CO., Publishers 

BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO 



JAN 29 1907 



